L
/ /ox-
e*
£
•
* :-
THE GOLD BRICK.
BY
MRS. AM S. STEPHENS.
AUTHOR OF "FASHION AND FAMINE," "MARY DERWENT," "THE OLD
HOMESTEAD," "THE REJECTED WIFE," "THE HEIRESS,"
"TUB WIFE'S SECRET," "SILENT STRUGGLES," ETC.
His was the deepest sorrow, for it grew
Oat from his crime, a night-shade of the soul.
There, fed on poison — bathed with bitter dew,
She found the evil thing. Her sweet control
Unearthed thd root, and softly planted there
A tiny germ, all white and pure as snow,
And then with tears, and smiles, and silent prayer.
Through grief and darkness, watched the lone plant ffrow
A stately tree, rooted so deep in Love,
That its best fruitage must be found above.
T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the
Southern District of New York.
TO
MY DEAR FRIEND,
MRS, BENJAMIN F, LOAN
OP ST. JOSEPH, MISSOURI,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
ANN S. STEPHENS.
NEW YORK, March, 1866.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAflB
THE MASSACRE * 27
CHAPTER II.
THE JEWEL BOX..... 33
CHAPTER III.
THE BURIAL 39
CHAPTER IV.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE 46
CHAPTER V.
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD , 54
CHAPTER VI.
THE FLOGGING 61
CHAPTER VII.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT 67
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BOX OF JEWELS 76
CHAPTER IX.
CHAINED IN THE HOLD 81
CHAPTER X.
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS 92
CHAPTER XL
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT TO THE WHITE COTTAGE 97
(21)
22 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XII.
HOME FROM SEA 104
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING 110
CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD HOME AND THE OLD PEOPLE. 116
CHAPTER XV.
BREAKFAST IN THE OLD HOMESTEAD 125
CHAPTER XVI.
A PAINFUL INTERVIEW 135
CHAPTER XVJI.
JEALOUS PANGS REGARDING MRS. MASON 139
CHAPTER XVIII.
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE IN THE SOUTH 144
CHAPTER XIX.
MRS. MASON LEAVES THE PINE WOODS 152
CHAPTER XX.
ANOTHER SEPARATION 160
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MINISTER AT BAYS HOLLOW GETS A WIFE 164
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MINISTER'S WIFE TAKES PUPILS 171
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR IN A SNOW-STORM 175
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING 183
CHAPTER XXV.
A GRAVE IN THE SNOW . 190
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXVI. PAG*
A CROWD UNDER THE BUTTERNUT TREE 195
CHAPTER XXYII.
THE SAILOR AND HIS TWO COMPANIONS 201
CHAPTER XXVIII.
OUT OP HER DELIRIUM 207
CHAPTER XXIX.
STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE 214
CHAPTER XXX.
THE WELCOME LETTER 223
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE AT SHRUB OAK 232
CHAPTER XXXII.
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE 239
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE OLD COUPLE ON THEIR SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE.. 244
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SNOW FRESHET 248
CHAPTER XXXV.
ALL SORTS OF TREASON 254
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES 265
CHAPTER XXXVII.
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY 2T2
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
A DOUBLE GUARD 280
CHAPTER XXXIX.
OUT IN THE DEPTHS OF THE NIGHT 284
24 CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XL.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD 293
CHAPTER XLL
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 298
CHAPTER XLII.
ON THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON 307
CHAPTER XLIII.
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 313
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SEPARATION 319
CHAPTER XLV.
PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME 326
CHAPTER XLVI.
JUBE FINDS HIS WAY TO BATS HOLLOW 331
CHAPTER XLVII.
A CHILDISH CONSULTATION 336
CHAPTER XLYIII.
PAUL SEES HIS MOTHER'S NECKLACE 341
CHAPTER XLIX.
A PALACE READY FOR ITS MISTRESS 348
CHAPTER L.
COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE , 351
CHAPTER LI.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL 355
CHAPTER LIT.
THE STREETS AND THE COURT HOUSE 362
CHAPTER LIII.
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE 361
CONTENTS. 25
CHAPTER LIV. **«
THE VERDICT 3t2
+•
CHAPTER LY.
THE TEAIL OP THE SERPENT 3T6
CHAPTER LVI.
LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST 382
CHAPTER LVIL
ONE HOUR OP SHAME.. -. 386
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE MOTHER AND SON 390
CHAPTER LIX.
THE EMPTY HOUSE 397
CHAPTER LX.
TOM HUTCHINS' LETTER 400
CHAPTER LXI.
UNSATISFIED VANITY 404
CHAPTER LXIL
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS 409
CHAPTER LXIII.
GATHERING APPLES 41f
CHAPTER LXIV.
MARRIED AGAIN 423
CHAPTER LXV.
THE FANCY BALL 421
CHAPTER LXVI.
STRANGE GUESTS 431
CHAPTER LXVII.
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED 439
26
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER LXVIII. PAOB
THE TREASURE VAULT 445
CHAPTER LXIX.
BIMSBURY MINES 448
CHAPTER LXX.
THE PRISON ANGEL 455
CHAPTER LXXL
THE SWEATING OVEN 460
CHAPTER LXXII.
UNDER THE APPLE TREE 468
CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUT OP A SCRAPE 474
CHAPTER LXXIV.
THE LONELY HOUSE 481
CHAPTER LXXY.
THE MANIAC'S TOILET 486
CHAPTER LXXVI.
THE DOCTOR'S RIDE 491
CHAPTER LXXYII.
THE CONVICT'S RETURN 498
CHAPTER LXiVIII.
TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL «... 50o
CHAPTER LXXIX.
THE WEDDING AND THE BAPTISM ..... 508
THE GOLD BRICK.
CHAPTER I.
THE MASSACRE.
A LOW coast, burdened in every foot of its soil with
the luxuriant growth of a tropical climate ; a large town,
straggling and flat, swarming like a hive of bees with
turbulent life. Lights flickering wildly from the win-
dows and dancing with a fantastic and red glare up and
down the streets. A dull, hollow sound rolling con-
stantly out upon the stillness of the waters, broken now
and then with sharp shrieks as lightning cleaves the
thunder gust.
This was the scene commanded from the deck of a
New England brig, lying in the harbor of Port au Prince,
on one of those terrible nights in the end of the last
century, when the horrible passions that had rioted
through France, like wild beasts ravening for blood, fled
across seas and fired themselves anew in the hot life of
the tropics.
The contrast between the stillness of the harbor, where
the starlight fell smilingly, and the waters rippled like
kisses around the vessels, and that demon riot on the
shore, was awful. To lie so near, with death shrieks
(27)
28 THE MASSACRE.
cutting the air every instant, with murderous yells
chasing them, like fiends, was enough to drive men mad.
The iron-hearted New England sailors on that deck, grew
restive as caged lions, while the tumult swelled louder
and louder around them. The young captain turned
white as he took short marches up and down the deck.
The men drew close together, eyeing each other with
fierce glances. A word from the captain would hare
sent them headlong into the massacre, in a wild effort
to save the women and children, whose shrieks, even
from the distance, drove them frantic.
But what could they do ? — a handful of men against
thousands on thousands of brutalized blacks, swarming
in that doomed city. It was terrible to remain, but mad-
ness to go. The captain ground his teeth and clenched
his hands in the agony of this restraint. Every cry
that reached the ship pierced him like a sword ; every
fresh gleam of light quivering across the waters seemed
to lure him to the rescue.
"Oh, my God! my God! I cannot bear this!" he
cried, as a group of wooden buildings near the shore
burst into a volume of fire, and one appalling shriek told
that scores on scores of human beings were engulphed
in the flames that danced and leaped and shed floods of
fiery gold far out on the harbor. " Neither my owners
nor my Maker could wish me to stand still now."
Going up to the group of sailors, he called out, "All
hands to work, my boys I lower the boats. Such of you
as want to help the poor wretches they are murdering
yonder, come with me."
"Aye, aye," broke in a smothered shout from the
sailors, and each man sprang to his duty — from cabin
boy to mate, not a soul lagged behind. Yes, one man,
THEMASSACBE. 29
the first mate, he neither repeated his superior's orders,
or moved toward the boats, but stood near the captain,
looking quietly unconcerned, with a half smile on his
lip.
" You will not go, Thrasher," said the captain. " I am
glad of it ; some one must take charge of the ship. Stay
on board, and be ready to lend a hand — we may bring
back some of those poor creatures."
" And if your men are killed, who will work the ship,
Captain Mason ? Remember the craft belongs neither to
you nor me."
" They shall not be killed, Thrasher, these brutes have
plenty to do without minding us ; besides, I'll keep off
shore, and only lie to, ready to haul any poor creature
in that takes to the water. They are sure to try, if they
think of the ship."
" Well, well, captain, you command here, and know
your own business best," answered Thrasher, with that
same smile creeping across his lips ; " for my part, I
stand by the ship."
" That's right ; I won't risk the men — never fear !
As for the brig, what can harm her ?"
"Nothing, while I'm aboard," answered the mate,
turning suddenly townward, where another broad sheet
of smoky flame blazed forth. " There," he cried, almost
with a shout, " there goes another bonfire. The whole
town will be roaring hot at this rate. Ha, look at that
flock of women rushing out of the smoke like rats — hot
work that — how plainly you can see 'em with their hair in
the wind, turning and rushing hither and yon, between
fire and water I Ho, ho, the black rascals are after 'em
— Lord, how they rim ! — how they fling up their arms
toward the ship — scatter on the beach — take to the
30 THEMASSACBE.
water — they're on 'em — the nigger hounds are on 'em
tooth and nail. What an infernal yell !"
Even that hard man turned away and covered his
face with both hands ; when he looked again it was with
wild, heavy eyes.
" Heavens and earth," he muttered, " how still it is in
spite of the roaring pit behind. The brutes have done
their work, and gone into the smoke again. How softly
the waves lick up the dead bodies from the sand and
sweep 'em under. But they'll come to daylight again ;
perhaps here under our bows, a hundred women — who
knows how many — with long hair, weltering up and
down like sea-weed after a storm. Faugh ! the dread
of it makes one childish. I wonder if they are all gone.
What, ho !"
Two persons, the cook and cabin-boy, had been left
behind by the boats, much against their will. They,
also, had witnessed the fearful scene on the beach, and
shuddering with terror, crouched together behind some
barrels that stood upon the deck. One of them tried to
answer Thrasher's shout, but his voice broke in a hoarse
whisper, and he really had neither the strength nor
courage to move.
By this time the captain's boat was nearing the shore
rapidly. If the scene of revolt had been terrible from
the distance, it was crowded with horrors now. The
fierce, hot breath of the fire came surging toward the
coast like a sirocco. The roar of that infernal massacre,
the pleadings and shrieks, the moans and shouts, horri-
bly mingling and rising above each other, oppressed the
very air. Out of the reeking melee of the town human
beings darted like scared birds, and hid among the chap-
arral or rushed madly toward the beach.
THE MASSACRE.
31
The captain was brave and humane, but he was honest
too, and in the midst of all this gave a thought to the
obligations he owed to his command. He would go
close to the shore, ready to save those who fled to the
water for death or refuge. If it proved possible for the
nature within him to resist the temptation to offer more,
he would resist ; if not, he was but human, and life was
a precious thing to every breathing being ; God would
forgive him for saving it, though his owners might not.
As he neared the shore, that portion of the town
which lay close to the water was in a bright blaze ; the
boat, the wharves, and the foam-fringed waves reddened
and glowed under the hot smiles of the fire. Deep into
the lurid caves made by the whirl of glowing smoke men
and women struggled madly, and tore at each other like
wild beasts, smothering their yells beneath the tumultu-
ous elements.
From this lurid torrent the people scattered, both
pursuers and pursued, out upon the open country. The
poor wretches who were to die sought the darkest spots,
hiding behind clumps of aloes and cactus hedges, or
creeping under torn masses of wild vines, panting with
terror and dread, and striving to hold the very breath
that threatened to betray them.
Secure of their victims in the end, the triumphant
hordes of negroes came huddling forth like demons,
hooting, dancing, and rioting in the brazen light their
own fiends' work had kindled. A group of palm trees
stood close to the shore a little distance from the town,
and to that point the insurgents swarmed in hundreds,
dragging the pale beings whose death was to be their
sport, brutally after them. When they reached the
palm trees there was a rush from the crowd, and a score
32 THE MASSACRE.
of dark objects leaped upon the slender stems, strug
gling upward, hustling over each other, the lowermost
seizing his neighbor by the bare, glistening shoulders
and hurling him down to the crowd amid wild shouts
and stormy oaths.
At last the palms swayed and bent almost double
under the burden of fiends, who dropped off by dozens
into the yelling crowd. The beautiful trees, relieved of
their weight, swayed back and penciled themselves
against the flaming sky, not green and free as they had
appeared a moment before ; but with the bark torn from
their delicate trunks, and the symmetrical foliage broken
and ragged. From the point of each leaf flaunted a
gorgeous scarf or tawdry ribbon — red, orange, purple,
and flame colored — which fluttered wildly in the hot
draughts of wind that swept over them from the burning
town.
Out from the crowd, like sharks leaping in the black
waves of a tempest, the negro women sprang upward,
seizing the ribbons, tearing them away from the leaves,
or bending down the stately trees until they took uncouth
forms, and seemed tortured like the group of women and
children whose death cries rang out from the midst of
the fiendish dance. The mingled mirth and horror grew
more and more maddening, till the sand all around re-
fused to soak in the blood they had shed, and the naked
feet of the dancers plashed to their own barbarous war
cry, or stumbled over the dead bodies of the slain ; for
with every turn of the dance, an axe had fallen, and a
soul gone shrieking up to its Maker.
Captain Mason saw all this from his boat, while it was
far out in the harbor ; with a cry of horror he seized the
oars and worked them till they bent like saplings under
THE JEWEL BOX. 83
his iron handling. But human strength was not equal
to human cruelty. While he was yet some fathoms from
the shore, the demons under the palm trees, scattered
back to the town in search of fresh victims, leaving the
dead and the dying to their agonies, with those mocking
ribbons waving fantastically in the wind, as if a May
dance had just passed beneath them.
Panting and breathless, their hearts burning with in-
dignation, the captain and his men rested on their oars ;
their work of mercy cut short, for alas ! rage is quicker
than charity. They could see the pale, dead faces of the
white women and children that had been murdered under
the palm trees, with terrible distinctness. Their rich
garments and delicate features, bespoke them of the
higher classes, but there they lay, like soldiers heaped
on a battle-field, with nothing but the stars of heaven to
pity them — the pure stars that seemed affrighted by the
tumult, and grew pallid in the smoke.
CHAPTER II.
THE JEWEL BOX.
As the captain sat with his face toward the palm trees,
he saw a woman rise up from among the dead, and turn
first toward the town, then seaward, in a wild despairing
search for help.
The captain stood up in his boat and shouted aloud,
while all hands pulled for the shore.
She heard him, reeled back against the stem of the
2
34 THE JEWEL BOX.
nearest palm tree, and clung to it, waving her hand to-
ward the boat. But as they looked, a young boy was
standing at her side, grasping her garments with his hand,
while his face was turned toward the boat. He seemed
urging her to flee. Twice her arm was unwound from
the palm, and a step tried, but she fell back again, as if
severely hurt or frightened out of her strength. The boy
still pleaded. They could see it in his gestures, in the
eager hand that motioned toward the shore, which the
boat almost touched.
He pointed this out ; he pulled frantically at her gar-
ments ; he fell upon his knees, lifting his clasped hands
toward her imploringly.
Something gave her desperate strength. She left the
palm, staggered, and sprang forward, more than keeping
pace with the boy, who, clinging to her hand, rushed on
with his great, wild eyes, uplifted to her face.
The captain sprang on shore, and met them on the
verge of the surf. The woman reeled toward him
blindly, with both hands outstretched, and fell into his
arms headlong, as she must have fallen on the sand but
for his presence.
He gathered her to his broad bosom, and wading
through the surf, waist deep, laid her in the boat, upon
& pile of jackets that his men hurriedly took off their
persons, and cast at his feet.
She was coldly pale, and did not seem to breathe.
But the captain had no time to remark this or any thing
else. A group of negroes who had been pursuing their
death work among the cactus hedges, saw the boy and
turned upon him.
The lad saw them, and with a desperate bound, leaped
into the surf — struggled, lost his foothold, and was in
THEJEWELBOX. 35
the very sweep of the undertow, when the captain
snatched him away. The savages hurled their sharp
missiles after him, which the water swallowed instantly.
So, as they were without firearms, the boy was saved,
while his pursuers raged and hooted on the shore.
When the boy saw his mother lying so pale and still
in the boat, he struggled from the captain's arms, and
kneeling by her side, pressed the beautiful face — for it
was beautiful — between his little trembling hands, while
in the purest and most pathetic French he besought her
to look up. He told her that they were safe now — away
on the sea, where nothing could hurt them. He en-
treated her to wake up, only for one minute, just long
enough to kiss him, and then she might go to sleep
again for ever so long.
The touching anguish in the boy's voice would have
called any mother back to life. She opened her eyes ; a
look of divine tenderness came softly to her face, and
died in a smile upon her lips, as the boy bent down with
a gush of tearful gladness and kissed her.
" There," he said, touching her raven hair with infi-
nite tenderness, " go to sleep now. Paul will sit by and
watch."
She seemed to understand him, for a serene smile
beamed on her face, and softly as white rose-leaves fall,
the-licls drooped over her eyes.
The child was satisfied, and looking up at the cap-
tain, said — " Yes, yes, she will have a sweet, long sleep.
We will not wake her — I promised, you know. If I
forget, and begin to kiss her, don't let me, please, sir,
for she always wakes, and smiles, when I do that. How
softly the boat rocks ! Oh, it will make her well."
The captain turned away his face, for he knew how
long that sleep would be.
36 THE JEWEL BOX.
Slowly and sadly they rowed toward the ship. Fire
and massacre raged behind them, but there was safety
and solemn stillness on the waters. The boy clung to
his mother's garments, and drooped his head wearily.
The motion of the boat — the soft stars, smiling down,
and scattering their broken images on the waves —
affected him peacefully. He longed to fall asleep with
his mother ; but somehow the idea that she needed his
care, kept the lids from sinking entirely over those
beautiful eyes.
At last the boat drew close to the sides of the brig.
The captain attempted to take the boy in his arms and
carry him on board. But the little fellow struggled
manfully, and insisted that his mother should be carried
up first. Captain Mason, with his imperfect knowledge
of French, understood this, for the child's face was
more eloquent than words ; but the men only compre-
hended his gestures, and interposed their superstitions
against his generous wishes.
" No," they protested, with sullen determination, "the
woman is dead — what have we to do with a corpse on
board the brig ? Ain't the signs agin her bad enough,
without that one ? Hoist the youngster aboard, captain,
and let us row the boat over to White's Island, and bury
the poor critter there !"
The child turned upon the sailors and searched their
faces eagerly, as if he guessed that they were planning
something against him. The men dropped their gloomy
eyes beneath his glances, but were not the less resolved.
Captain Mason knew the superstition of his men too
well for any idea of opposing it while his ship lay in
that dangerous neighborhood. He cast one pitying look
on the beautiful young woman who lay at his feet, in her
THEJEWELBOX. 37
calm, eternal slumber, then tenderly addressed the boy:
"Your mother is asleep, let her stay here," he said,
in very confused French. But the attention of the boy
was keenly directed ; he understood clearly, and sat
down, folding his little arms with a pleading smile.
" Me too ?" he said.
" No, my child, you shall go on deck and wait while
the boat rocks here. All shall go, and leave your mother
to sleep alone."
" Is it best ?" inquired the boy ; " will she sleep
longer if we go ?"
" Yes, poor orphan, her sleep will be long enough,"
cried the captain, all his generous sympathy bursting
forth in English.
"What!" said the boy, gently, "will her sleep be
sweeter — did you say that ? Lift me up, I will go. Let
one of those big men put me on his shoulder. I shan't
be afraid. My father is — oh, how brave! — so am I."
The captain lifted the little fellow in his arms, and held
him against as good and true a heart as ever beat in
man's bosom — a heart pained with many compunctions
by the humane deception he was compelled to practice.
The men made the boat fast, and came up the side of
the brig, leaving it rocking softly on the water.
" Wait till he is asleep," the captain said, as they
stood in a group, anxious for orders. " Then we will
take her to the island."
The men retired, somewhat dissatisfied at any delay,
but made no further protest.
" Let me sit here, please, where I can look over and
see her face as she sleeps," said the gentle child, in a
sweet, pleading way, that went to that captain's heart ;
"besides, I want to watch for papa. When the negroes
'38 THEJEWELBOX.
dragged us away, mamma and I — he followed after a
little while, and when I looked back and he was lying
on the ground, tired with running, I suppose ; but he'll
come, so if you don't mind, monsieur, I'll just wait
here."
The boy had clambered up to a cask that stood near
the side of the vessel, as he spoke, and folding his arms
on the bulwarks, looked down with touching watchful-
ness upon the face of his mother, which lay, white as
marble, in the starlight.
How beautiful, and how patient was that childlike
watch. Sometimes the boy would lift his eyes with a
troubled look, and turn them toward the town, which,
still glaring and riotous, kept up its atrocious noises.
Then he would search the harbor for some boat, and
finding none, sink to his patient watch again, murmur-
ing, " Oh, but he will come, when it is daylight — when it
is daylight."
At last the struggles of nature were too strong for a
child so delicately nurtured, and with his little arms
folded on the bulwark he dropped into a profound
sleep. But it was almost break of day before he became
thus unconscious, and the captain had no time to spare.
Taking the little fellow once more in his arms he laid
him on his own bed, and going instantly on deck, sum-
moned his men. With eager alacrity they descended
to the boat. The captain followed with a large cloak
over his arm, with which he reverently covered the
dead. One man brought a pickaxe and spade, which
he had taken from the cargo, and sat them in the stern
of the boat ; now that all danger of a dead person being
carried aboard was over, they went quietly and seriously
to their duties. As they gave the boat to her oars
THE BURIAL. 39
every arm fell softly to its work, it seemed as if they
feared that a single splash of water would be followed
by wails of pain from the poor child whose mother was
floating away into eternity while he dreamed.
Across the waters and through the gray gleams of
early dawn the boat cut its way to White's Island —
which as yet was calm and peaceful. In a jungle of
roses, where lofty cedars sheltered the beautiful coffee
trees, the sailors dug a grave, leaving the murdered
woman in the boat till their work was done. The cap-
tain, saddened by this individual instance of wrong, sat
down upon the bank watching the boat, while his men
completed their task. Once or twice he heard a move-
ment in the chaparral, as if some wild animal were dis-
turbed by his presence, but he took no heed, and at last
his men came back.
CHAPTER III.
THE BURIAL.
CAPTAIN MASON would not leave that delicate crea-
ture to his men, but folding his cloak carefully around her,
supported her head as she was lifted from the boat.
Under the bending trees and through the fragrant
shrubs they carried her, with hushed voices and cautioiis
steps; for wrapped in the stillness of the morning there
was something awful in that hastily prepared burial
which penetrated to the hearts of those New England
sailors as no ceremony could have done. But the vines,
40 T-H E BURIAL.
that fell in garlands from the trees, and the flowering
branches which they were compelled to sweep aside,
made the passage difficult. Once a patriarch aloe, which
had shot up its great spikes of yellow blossoms for
the first time in that year of blood, caught an ornament
of the cloak on one of its sharp leaves and tore it from
the dead, leaving the beautiful face and the long, sweep-
ing hair exposed.
That instant there arose a fierce, rustling sound in
the chaparral, followed by a cr}^ that made the sailors
pause in their holy work. The captain, pained by this
sudden exposure of the dead, stooped, and with one
hand strove to gather up the cloak which was now
drawn entirely away, and trailed like a pall along the
path they had taken. But at that instant a powerful ne-
gro tore a passage through the chaparraV, and throwing
himself on the ground, seized upon the garments of the
dead lady, and broke into a passion of grief so wild and
poignant that the sailors looked at each other awe-
stricken.
" Is she dead — is she dead ?" cried the negro, in wild,
broken French, which the captain could hardly under-
stand. "My mistress — my beautiful — beautiful mis-
tress. They have killed her — why did she send Jube
away ? — where is the little master ? — where is monsieur ?
All dead, all murdered, burned, trampled in the ashes."
" Did you know this lady ?" said the captain, in his
broken French. " Did you know her ?"
The man looked up ; tears rained down his face, and
he sobbed out an incoherent answer amid plaintive
moans over his mistress, for such evidently the lady
had been.
" Me know her — me that swung her first hammock on
THE BURIAL. 41
the mangoe trees — me ! ah, strange master, tell me, is
she dead ? gone forever and ever ? no more smiles, no
more sweet words for Jube when he brings her fruit."
" Get up, poor fellow, get up, and let us pass," said
the captain, in a kindly voice. " She is dead, and it is
dangerous to wait."
The man drew back, but still kept on his knees.
"And the master," he said piteously.
"I can tell you nothing cf him," said the captain;
"but the boy, the little one, is safe in my ship yonder."
The negro sprang to his feet, searched for the ship
with eager glances, and began to clasp and wring his
hands in alternate paroxysms of grief and joy.
" The little master ! The poor, poor mistress !" he
kept exclaiming.
" Come, let us pass," said the captain, a little im-
patiently, for the morning had dawned, and rays of soft,
rosy light flushed the sky, and fell trembling on the
water. " Let us pass, we are not safe a minute here."
The negro stood aside, shaking with grief, and when
the funereal group had passed him half a dozen paces,
he followed it with his head bowed down, and his clasped
hands falling heavily before him. Thus he stood till the
body was placed in its shallow grave, but when the first
shovelful of earth was lifted, he came forward with
both hands extended imploringly, and pushed the spade
back. An orange tree stood near, on which the yellow
fruit and white blossoms hung clustering together
among the fragrant leaves ; the negro went to this tree,
seized one of the most richly laden boughs, and tore the
blossoming branches away with both hands. Then he
gathered them eagerly up, carried them to the grave,
and over the body of his mistress he scattered the
42 THEBURIAL.
flowers till the turf all around was flooded with fra-
grance, like an altar at some holy festival.
When this was done the poor fellow drew back, and
covering his face with his hands, stood trembling in all
his limbs till the sailors had done their work, and dragged
some shrubs and vines over the earth under which his
murdered lady — more fortunate than thousands massa-
cred that fatal night — had found a death shelter.
The sailors moved away from the grave they had
made, but the negro did not look up, and they started
for the boat, leaving him behind. Then the stillness
aroused him, and as the party neared the shore, he fol-
lowed with a look of painful entreaty in his face, beg-
ging to go with them to the ship.
The captain made a prompt motion for him to come
on ; but gesticulating energetically for them to wait, he
ran back to the spot where they had first seen him,
stooping downward, he began to tear up the earth with
both hands, flinging the leaves and sods on one side in
wild haste, only pausing to entreat their patience, with
a pitiful glance of the eyes. At last he dropped on his
knees, lifted something from the hole he had dug, and
came forward with the moist soil dropping from his
hands, which were clutched tightly around a bronze
box. He followed the men into the boat, and sat down
hugging the box to his bosom, and muttering to him-
self in hurried, eager words, which no one present
understcod
When they reached the ship the negro climbed up
the sides like a cat. Once on the deck, he ran back
and forth, searching every corner. Then, with a de-
spairing cry, he sprang upon the bulwarks, lifted the box
over his head, and poised himself for a plunge.
THEBURIAL. 43
The captain saw this desperate attempt, threw both
arms around the negro, and dragged him back upon the
deck.
The poor fellow scrambled to his knees, and looking
up with pitiful abjectness, said :
" He is not here — the young master is not here ; you
said he was."
" Get up and come this way, my poor fellow !" said
the captain, touched by the humble pathos of his disap-
pointment.
The negro sprang up and seized the box, which had
fallen with a crash on the deck.
" I come, master, I come."
" Hush 1" said the kind-hearted sailor, pointing to his
berth as they entered the cabin. " Hush ! and tell me
if that is your young master."
The negro drew in his breath with a sob, and scarcely
seemed to respire after that. He crept close up to the
berth, and looked down upon the boy with a glow in his
black face that it is impossible to describe, for every
ugly feature quivered with tenderness, while his eyee
filled with light, like those of a Newfoundland dog
when he has done brave work for his master.
" What will you do with us, strange master ?" he said
at last, addressing the captain in a humble whisper.
" Not send us back yonder ?"
He made a motion toward the town with his hand,
and a slow horror crept over his face.
" No, my poor fellow, I will take the child to my own
thrice-blessed land, if there is no one left to claim him."
"And Jube — let him go too. If the strange master
wants a slave, Jube is strong, like a lion, and honest as
a dog."
44 THBBURIAL.
"Poor fellow!"
" See if Jube is not honest," he added, pressing the
bronze box between his hands, and forcing some secret
spring to recoil. " They told Jube to keep them, and
he did. The master went back after mis — went after
them. Jube wanted to go with him, but the master said,
' No, stay on the island, and guard that ;' so Jube staid,
waiting — waiting — waiting for master to come with mis-
tress and the little boy. He never come — never — never
will come again. The mistress sleeps I but where shall
Jube go to find him, and give back the box ?"
" My poor fellow, I fear your master is dead, from
some words I gathered from the boy ; I am almost sure
of it."
" You will take the little boy and Jube away ?" said
the negro, anxiously, still holding the box half-shut be-
tween his hands.
" If no one comes to claim him or you, I will."
The lid of the box flew open, and a ray of sunshine
from the cabin window flashed upon the jewels with
which it was filled — diamond necklaces, bracelets flaming
wil« rubies and emeralds, ropes of oriental pearls, and
armlets flashing like rainbows, broke the sunshine into
sparkles of fire.
Mason looked wonderingly on the eager face of the
negro.
"And this treasure — did it belong to your master?"
he questioned. " Was it to guard this, you hid in the
chaparral at White Island?"
"All his ; more, more, much more in the great house
out there ; but heavy gold — too heavy — we had to leave
it and go back. He went — wouldn't take Jube — master
went, but never he comes to see if Jube is faithful !"
THEBUBIAL. 45
"And all this belongs to the little fellow yonder. God
help him!"
" You take little boy — take the box, and take Jube ;
he gives you all 1"
Jube closed the box, dropped on both knees, and held
it up.
Captain Mason hesitated, looked at the sleeping child
and its strange guardian, shrinking from the trust
which chance had imposed upon him. But he felt that a
sacred duty was placed before him, from which no
honest man should wish to retreat.
He took the box, but as his hands touched the metal
a cold chill crept to his heart, and a mist floated before
his eyes — an unstable, reddish mist, such as floods
a room when the light is filtered through crimson
drapery.
Perhaps the red curtain had fluttered before the cabin
window ; but if so, he felt the startling effect without
knowing its cause, and the box shook in his hands, till
the jewels within gave forth a faint sound.
" You will take us," pleaded the negro, frightened by
the change in Captain Mason's countenance.
"Yes," answered the brave man, casting off the feel-
ing that had seized upon him ; " I accept the trust ; God
has placed it in my hands. As I discharge it, may he
prove merciful to me and mine."
The captain spoke to himself, and from the feelings
that filled his heart, rather than in reply to the negro ;
but the expression of his face was full of grand resolve,
which the slave could read better than language. So he
looked on with a glow of satisfaction while the box was
packed up among the most valuable property the cap-
tain possessed.
46 THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
All this time the cabin door had been ajar, and but
for the excitement consequent to the scene, Captain
Mason might have heard cautious steps creeping down
the stairs, and the suppressed breathing of a man who
skulked on the lowest steps, with his greedy eyes fixed
on the jewels, as they flashed that one minute in the
negro's hands. The listener waited until he saw the
treasure put safely away, and heard the captain's promise.
Then he went up the steps, two at a time, with soft,
cautious leaps, like those of a fox, and when the captain
came on deck, his mate was busy superintending the
boat, as it was hauled to its fastenings.
CHAPTER IV.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
IN France, the awful strife of the Revolution had
sprung out of oppressions heaped by one class upon
another, from century to century, until the people be-
gan to comprehend the powers that lay in mere physi-
cal strength, and hurled themselves in a phrensy of hate
on their oppressors. But even Paris, whose awful ex-
ample had run like wildfire all over France and its de-
pendencies, plunged into its carnival of blood with far
less ferocity than marked this outbreak of Negroes in
St. Domingo. In Paris, it was an upheaving of classes,
marked and established by men of kindred blood, and
born to the same soil. A struggle of men clamorous
for their birthright of freedom, which they were deter-
mined to wrest from the strong hand of power.
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE. 47
Ages of oppression could not be hurled off thus sud-
denly, without horrible carnage. But there, it was the
people against a government — white men struggling
against white men. In a mighty effort to upheave the
foundations of despotism, the people grew mad. In their
ardor for liberty, and in the ignorance of her very visage,
they trampled her in the dust, setting up red handed
murder in her place, dealing death on every hand, as
they hurled themselves with mighty force on their op-
pressors and trampled upon them with that ferocious hate
continual wrongs will ever engender. But in the hot
tropics, this struggle became a war of races, the most
fierce, terrible, and relentless that humanity has yet
known. It became a war of blacks against whites.
Slaves against their masters. Where hate and ignorance
hurled their massive strength against luxurious refine-
ment. The brightest features of this horrible struggle
were, the murders that gave Paris so many blood red
pages in history, pages that all her after greatness and
glory will never have power to wash white.
The massacre of St. Domingo was one of intense
hate. The black slave, brutalized by the chains he
wore, stood on every hearthstone ready for revenge
on his white master. That which followed was not
merely a massacre but a hurried carnival of ruin, a
riot of awful passions, of atrocities for which there is
no language, and from which the imagination revolts
with sickening inability of comprehension.
Of all the horrors perpetrated in the French Revolu-
tion, which was one great horror in itself, that of St.
Domingo was the most brutal the most demoniac.
And such a war of races — a war between white men and
negroes must ever be. With the despotism of long
48 THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
established power, luxurious ease, and pampered intel-
ligence, opposed to the hot blood of Africa, scarcely
subdued from its first savage state, fired by the memory
of slave ships, chains, starvation, barter, and above all,
the wild freedom which preceded these wrongs, who
can wonder at the scenes which made that lovely island
a purgatory of crime.
But these scenes no human being can ever describe.
It would require a pen of adamant and the heart of a
fiend to depict a single act of that fearful outbreak.
All the night, and deep into the sweet rosiness of the
morning the terrible strife raged on in that doomed
city. But in the broad day these black savages began
to retreat from their ghastly orgies, and, for a time, the
delirium of murder waned from its climax. The thirst
for rapine slackened to a degree, and the monsters who
had found this ferocious pastime full of intoxication,
grew sluggish like wild beasts satiated with blood.
Some of these wretches lay down in the public streets,
and fell asleep in the hot sun ; others huddled together
in torpid masses and sunk into stupor, dreaming of
coming nights, which should give them a new riot of
blood and fire. Stumbling over these, fierce crowds of
untired demons kept on their work, stabbing right and
left in brutal wantonness, for a lack of victims, and sick-
ening the air with boasts of hideous acts performed in the
night, and which another night should witness. Never
on this earth had a scene more revolting presented itself
to the beautiful sunshine.
But human nature is not all vile, and even among
those ignorant, ill-used blacks, germs of compassion,
tenderness, and good faith are found, redeeming, in a
degree, the harrowing cruelties of the many. Among
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE. 49
these good men — good in spite of ignorance and wrong
endured — was the black man Jube. If ever faithful-
ness, natural feeling, and a simple sense of honor,
dwelt in a human being, these feelings throve in the
broad, cloudy bosom of the slave, and many another
household servant became a household saviour in that
cruel time.
While his little master was wrapped in the deep slum-
ber which follows exhaustion, the negro had besought per-
mission to go on shore and search for his master. Cap-
tain Mason, in his generous pity of the poor fellow, sent
the boat back to the place it had reached the night be-
fore, to lie in wait for the negro while he searched
around the palm trees and the neighboring chaparral
for some traces of the noble master who had won his
whole savage heart by great kindness.
The men who waited in the boat saw him wandering
along the shore in a dejected attitude, for a long time.
At last he came near a great spreading aloe, whose broad
under leaves were half buried in the sand. Those who
watched, heard a low, wailing cry, and saw the negro
fall upon his knees, and rock to and fro in an agony
of grief over some object concealed behind the aloe.
" He's found something that's cut him down like grape
shot," said one of the sailors, flinging a quid of tobacco,
which he had just cut for himself, back into his box, and
closing it softly.
" Such a scream as that is enough to take a man off
his tobacco for a month," answered another tar, taking
off his tarpaulin, and wiping his bald head with the
sleeve of his jacket.
" Supposen we pull in and see what it is ?" said Rice.
" No ; the captain told us not to go ashore. Some of
3
50 THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
them tarual niggers 'ed get hold of the boat, spite of
us," answered the old tar.
" But we'll row up into shallow water, and one of us
can go see what's the matter, and the rest 'ell take cai-e
of the cutter. Every thing seems to be still along there,
not a nigger in sight," answered Rice, who commanded
the boat.
The boat was urged into water so shallow that one
of the sailors rolled up his duck trousers and stepped
in, wading easily ashore. With a long, rolling step he
swung himself forward up the beach, and soon found
Jube on his knees by the body of a dead man, who lay
in the gaunt shadow of the aloe, pierced through the
heart, with a spear broken short in the wound.
Jube looked up, his black face wet with tears, his
great hands clasped and pressed downward in the sand.
" It is him. Me has found the master," he said in
broken English. " Cold ! cold ! oh, so dead !"
The sailor looked down into the calm, aristocratic
face of the dead patrician — for such the man evidently
was — no marble could ever have been more finely cut,
or coldly pale than those features. But for the masses
of glossy hair and the black eyes, that remained partly
open, the idea of some perfect specimen of sculpture
would have been complete.
Jube unclasped his great hands, and with a reveren-
tial touch attempted to close the eyes.
" It's of no sorts of use," said the sailor, " you poor
heathen nigger you. It ain't possible to shut them
eyes now ; they'll stay wide awake till the judgment day.
All we can do is to dig a trench here, close by this
thing with the notched leaves, and lay him in. Come,
bear a hand, and I'll help you, if you are black ; this
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE. 51
ain't no time to be perticular, besides I've kinder took a
notion to you, anyhow."
Jube did not comprehend many of the words, but he
understood the gestures, and went to work, raining great
tears on the sand as he scraped it up.
The sailor fell to, and worked vigorously, comforting
the negro, in his rough way, all the time. At last a
trench of some depth was dug, and the sailor bade Jube
help him lift the body into its poor resting-place. Then
Jube began to sob, and tremble through all his massive
frame, but he obeyed meekly. The garments upon the
body were rich and of value. That sailor only got ten
dollars a month for his hard labor, but he never thought
of taking a fragment of those rich clothes, nor attempted
to examine the pockets, though a clink of gold, as they
lifted the body, told him that what might have been
wealth to him was there. As for Jube, poor fellow, he
scarcely knew what money meant, and if he had, would
have guarded that about his master's person with his
life.
So they lifted that proud and noble man from the
red sand where he had been murdered, and laid him in
the best grave they had the power to make. Jube tore
away one of the great aloe leaves, and laid it over the
•white face, moaning like a wounded creature, as he shut
it out from his own sight ; but he shook so violently,
that the sailor, with rough kindness, bade him go away,
while he filled in the grave, and evened the sand. So
• Jube sat down in the shade of the aloe, and covering his
face with his hands, sat still waiting.
When that boat neared the vessel, Jube saw his young
master leaning over the bulwarks, and watching it with.
v longing impatience.
52 THE FAITHFUL SLAVE.
" Jube, oh, Jube ! why did they not come ? I thought
they would both be with you!" he cried, in a voice of
keen disappointment. " Come up, come vip, and tell me ;
the time has seemed so long."
Jube climbed up the rope ladder very slowly, with his
black face bent toward the water. At last he stood
on the deck, his heavy shoulders drooping, his eyes cast
down, and his great bare feet trembling on the boards
they pressed.
" Jube, Jube ! tell me where they are ? Why did
mamma go away, and not call me ? It wasn't kind,
Jube."
" Mistress always kind, very kind, little master," stam-
mered Jube, trying hard to control the tremulous motion
that contracted his heavy lips.
"But where ? Is she with papa ?"
" Yes, little master. She — she is with papa, sure."
"Jube, did they both go home and leave me ?" ques-
tioned the child, with tears in his eyes. " Did they,
Jube ?"
"No, little master, they didn't do that; how could
they ?"
" Well, then, where are they ?"
" Not in the old home, be sure, not there ; bad slaves,
bad negro there."
" But are they safe ?"
"Yes; safe."
" On shore ?"
"Yes, little master, safe on the shore."
" But when will they come after us, Jube ? I do so
want to see them. Mamma was so tired she couldn't
say good-night, and papa — I feel very, very unhappy
about papa ; he never left me so long before."
THE FAITHFUL SLAVE. 53
"But he couldn't help it, little master; sure he
couldn't."
" I know that. Of course he couldn't ; but, oh ! when
will he come ? Jube, Jube, my heart aches so !"
" Jube's heart aches, too."
" Does it, Jube, like mine — heavy, heavy ; and when
I ask you about them, it aches worse ? Dear old Jube,
I won't do it. You shall see how bravely I can wait."
The child took one of Jube's hard hands in his, as he
spoke, and led the negro away.
"Why, how you shake, Jube! What for? I never
felt you shake so before !" he said, laying his other deli-
cate hand caressingly over that of the black man's.
" Jube helped row the boat, little master, and it is hard
work."
" But you are so strong, Jube ; strong as a lion, and
as brave ; papa said so."
" Did he say that, little master ; did he ?"
" There, you are shaking again ! Sit down, Jube.
Don't be afraid ; I won't ask any thing. There, lean
your head against the mast ; I will watch for them while
you rest."
"No, don't watch. They won't come yet — not yet."
"Not before night, perhaps."
Jube closed his eyes heavily, and groaned.
It was mournful — the sight of that strange child, sit-
ting upon Jube's knee and watching the shore with a
trusting, earnest hope that his father and mother would
seek him over the water where she had fallen asleep and
floated away, but would be sure to come back when papa
was found. The child said this a hundred times, as he
patted the hard palm of the slave with his little hand,
while Jube answered bravely, each time, "Oh, yes,
64: THE SEARCH FOE GOLD.
Master Paul, sometime they shall see us again. That's
what the captain was saying to me just now. I hope it's
true, little master; for your sake I hope he knows."
When he had done speaking, Jube would turn his
head quite away, and shake the tears from his eyes,
while the boy fell to his patient watch again.
CHAPTER V.
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
PAUL saw that questions wounded his black friend,
and fell into silence, thinking of his parents with mourn-
ful yearning, but not mentioning them again.
It was a long, dreary day ; but the sunset came at last,
flooding the harbor with crimson, which made the water
look ensanguined like the land. One by one the lights
of the town began to flame out again, and hoarse sounds
mingled with the surf of the tide. Now the boy became
restless, and his eyes began to gleam impatiently.
" Jube, dear Jube, let us go ashore with a big boat,
and bring them away! don't you hear the noise — don't
you see how the fire flashes. They'll be hurt, Jube, and
we shan't be there to help them."
Thrasher, the mate, was passing as the boy said this ;
he paused, and patted the little fellow's head.
" Who is it you want to help, my little man ?" he said.
The child shrunk against his black guardian, and
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD. 55
looked up with such gentle earnestness that Thrasher's
eyes fell under the glance.
" We want to go after them, monsieur. My papa and
mamma ; she couldn't wait for me, because papa wanted
her, and so rowed away after him. But she sent dear
old Jube to stay with me, didn't she Jube ?"
He lifted both hands, and pressed the palms lovingly
against the black cheeks of the slave, with a childish-
ness which was the more touching because of its mournful
trust.
" So you think your mother has gone back to the shore
again?" said Thrasher, whose attention to this child was
singular, for he was in no way a man of fine sensibilities,
and had received the boy, and, afterward, the slave,
rather grudgingly.
" Yes," answered Paul ; " after papa lay down to rest,
you know, mamma wanted to go back there, and strug-
gled, and cried ; but they wouldn't let her. You might
know she'd be off the minute she woke up and found the
captain had left her with a boat all to herself; but she's
a long time. Don't you think it's a long time. I'm so
tired of waiting."
"And who was your mamma, my little man ?"
"My mamma! she was a beautiful lady, oh! so beau-
tiful ! I know that's true, because papa told her so every
day, when she put the red roses in her hair that Jube
brought. You remember, Jube ?"
"Yes, little master, I remember; but turn your eyes
away, I can't bear 'em just now."
" And where did your father live ?" persisted the mate,
feeling his way adroitly, as a pointer scents his game.
The child pointed toward the town.
" In a luroe house ?" said Thrasher.
56 THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
" The biggest house on the island," answered Jube,
true to the instincts of his class.
"And they drove }-our master away like the rest ?"
" Like the meanest of them all. It was his own slaves
began. They knew of his gold, and that he wanted to
send it off to some other country."
" He was rich, then ?"
" Rich — no man like him in all Domingo ! It was a
great family — six brothers ; they all gathered up their
gold and brought it to my master's, ready to be put on
board some ship — this one it may be. I had care of the
gold, but the boxes were heavy, and the other slaves
guessed what was in them, and told about it. But they
did not know where it was hid, for my master and his
brothers only went with me to the cellar. It was a heavy
lift for gentlemen like them, but we got it all into the
vault, and heaped stones and rubbish against the door.
They meant to move it that very night. A boat was
ready to carry it to White's Island. The day before,
masters and I went there, and dug a pit to bury it in."
"And did you take it there ?" asked the mate, with
suppressed eagerness.
" JSo, surety — no !" answered the slave, with a sudden
gleam of caution. " The patriots fell upon us — they
began to burn and kill without warning. My master
sent me to the boat, and told me to wait till he came with
the mistress ; but they fired the wharves, which made
the water one blaze of light ; and I could not come near
the shore, try as I would. So at last I went to the
island, and waited ; but instead of my master — oh
know what came there I"
" But the gold — did any one find the gold ?"
" How do I know ?"
THE SEARCH FOB GOLD. 57
"And the house — was it burned ?"
" No ; little master says they were dancing, and shout-
ing, and drinking wine from the cellars when the family
was driven out."
"And your master, where is he — his brothers, what
became of them ?" questioned the mate, so excited that
his voice grew hoarse.
" Hush," said Jube, glancing at the boy.
"All ?" whispered Thrasher.
"All, master."
" Where did you say the house stood ?"
" Yonder, on the edge of the town ; you can see its
white walls in the sunset behind the mango trees."
"What, that house ? I know it, I have passed its gar-
dens a hundred times."
" Oh, I shall never pass them again," said Jube, with
tears in his eyes.
" Oh yes ; papa will come after us, don't say that,
Jube," whispered the boy.
The mate, who had taken so much interest in them
both, now turned abruptly away, and began to pace the
deck, with the quick, heavy tread of a man who thinks
excitedly. At last he paused, stood looking over the
bulwarks awhile, and then went below.
The captain was in his cabin when the mate entered
rather abruptly.
" Captain Mason," he said, "you had the luck to do
some good on shore last night, what if I take a turn with
three or four of the men ? The black rascals will be at
their work again, no doubt
The captain looked up surprised. It was the first in-
stance of humanity he had ever known in his mate.
58 THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
" Go by all means," he said ; " pick your men and God
speed you !"
Thrasher did not start so promptly as his eagerness
seemed to promise. He was a long time lowering the
boat, and paused more than once to cross-question the
slave and the little boy, always managing to gain some
fresh knowledge with every innocent answer he re-
ceived.
At last, after the night had set fairly in, he descended
to the boat, followed by four stout men, selected from
the crew. The boy watched his movements with anxious
e}res, and Jube seemed troubled as the boat glided off
into the twilight.
They reached the shore, Thrasher and his crew, with-
out molestation ; a broken attempt at riot had been
made early in the evening, but the blacks were besotted
with a carousal of blood which had now lasted forty-
eight hours, and fell into sluggish inactivity ; so the
band of sailors, always popular men with the blacks,
made their way safely enough up to the walls of the
white villa, which Jube had pointed out from the ship.
It was a vast pile, built low on the ground, but covering
a spacious area, and enclosing a court, overrun with
flowers, that filled the air with fragrance, trampled and
torn as they had been.
It was one vast scene of desolation. The broad gates
were flung open, the trees that overhung them were
broken, and their branches trailed on the ground ; while
a host of rude feet had trampled the luscious fruit upon
the pavement of the court. Among the roses, and pas-
sion-flowers, and cape-jessamines that trailed along the
court, a fountain flung up jets of pure water ; but its
basin of white marble was clouded with broad crimson
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD. 59
stains, that all the crystal springs on earth would never
wash out. Over the arched entrances that led to the
separate apartments of the house, lamps of colored
glass were swinging exactly as they had been lighted
when the family were surprised by the murderers, flee-
ing from them only to meet a more terrible fate outside
the walls. No one had cared to put the lamps out, so
they burned on through the daytime, and into this
second gloomy night.
The mate and his men stood a moment in the court,
not to breathe its delicious atmosphere, but to take their
bearings, as he said, with unseemly spirit. Lights
burned in a few of the windows, and he saw by the
gossamer draperies, and silken gleam within — for the
latter shone richly through a lattice-work of flowers
which filled the verandas — that he was near that wing
of the vast building usually occupied by the family,
now utterly dispersed, save one little child and a single
slave.
" From these rooms there should be some passage
leading to the cellars," reasoned the mate, as he mounted
a flight of marble stairs that led to the first gallery,
and was followed by his men, whose heavy footsteps
broke the bell-like fall of the fountain with their coarse
noise.
The work of desolation was complete in those vast
saloons. The broad silken divans were trampled over
by the tracks of naked feet, left on the delicate fabric
in long trails of soot. Chandeliers of frosted silver,
and lamps of delicate alabaster, were torn down and
overturned, with their wax candles, broken and trampled
upon the floor, and perfumed oil dripping along the
pure marble. Many of the lace window-curtains were
60 THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
torn to shreds ; others were gathered up and twisted in
soiled wisps over the cornices ; some still floated in
gossamer softness over the windows, through which
orange branches, heavy with bloom and golden with
fruit, looked in, rustling to the night wind with sweet,
lulling sounds.
The men passed through these saloons, trampling
many a precious thing under their feet, which a delicate
feminine taste had gathered to beautify the dwelling.
They rushed through the broad saloons, and into the
more private apartments — apartments in themselves so
pure and spotless, that the insurgents had turned from
them, as fiends might be supposed to shrink away from
the resting-place of angels. The couches were un-
touched, and white as snow; flowers stood, but half
withered, on the marble consoles ; a few ornaments,
dropped on the floor, bespoke some haste, but no vio-
lence. One of the sailors crushed a string of pearls
under his foot, and ground it to powder upon the mar-
ble floor. Another tangled his boot in a web of costly
lace, that had been hastily taken from a drawer and
dropped in the terror of a sudden assault. The man
tore it away from his boot with a smothered growl, and
the party went on, looking cautiously back to be sure
that no one followed.
The mate had guessed well. He found a passage
leading from one of the lower galleries into the cellar,
which was now half flooded with wine that had been
left to flow from the reeking casks without check. Here
the blacks had held a grand carouse after the massacre
under the palm trees. Bottles had been dashed against
the walls, and the fragments were trodden into the earth,
which sent up mingled fumes of wines and liquors,
THEFLOGGING. 61
with a strength that almost stifled even those tough
sailors.
Plashing across the moist floor till his boots were red
with wine, the mate found a pile of rubbish heaped
against the wall. He held up a little silver lamp, which
had burned its perfumed oil long after the fair hand
was cold that filled it, and bade the men go to work.
lie spoke in a hoarse whisper, that almost startled him-
self.
The bricks and loose stones flew right and left, reveal-
ing a low iron door. The foremost man swung the
crowbar over his head to dash the door in, but that in-
stant Thrasher seized him by the arm. The man turned
angrily around. Then, struck by the dead whiteness of
Thrasher's face, glanced over his shoulder, and the iron
fell heavily from his grasp.
CHAPTER VI.
THE FLOGGING.
THEY were far out to sea, the New England brig
which lay in the harbor of Port au Prince on that terri-
ble night, with the unhappy and helpless creatures who
had found protection under its flag. Thrasher, who was
the commander now, sat in his cabin at breakfast. He
held a cup of coffee in one hand which seemed to have
excited his disfavor, for setting it on the table and dash-
ing the spoon so angrily into the coffee that it scattered
the drops all around, he called out,
62 THEF LOGGING.
" Come here, you brat."
Paul, the little boy whom Captain Mason had saved,
came reluctantly forward, his black eyes heavy with
fear, and his delicate limbs trembling, as you see
those of an Italian greyhound when driven into the
cold.
Why don't you move — what do you stand there
shaking like a thief for ?"
These coarse words were made even more brutal by
the base French in which they were uttered. At any
time the boy could with difficulty have understood
them ; in his fright he could only stand still, with his
terror stricken face turned away from the man who per-
secuted him.
" Why don't you move, I say ?" repeated the com-
mander.
" What for, monsieur — what shall I do ?" asked the
child.
" What shall you do ?" answered the man, mimicking
the gentle terror in the child's voice with a rough drawl
of mockery. " What shall you do ? why go to Jube,
your father, and tell him to come here this instant ! I'll
teach him to send coffee like that to a gentleman's table.
Bah, it's bitter as gall and thick as mud. Go call your
father, I say."
" My father !" said the boy — " my father !" and his
beautiful eyes were instantly flooded with tears.
" Yes, that nigger, Jube."
" But Jube is our slave, not my father."
" What ! don't let me hear you tell that again or I'll
give you a taste of the cat-o-nine-tails, no humbug with
me, now I tell you "
The boy shrank back, but gleams of fire shot through
THE FLOGGING. 63
the tears that still trembled in his eyes ; he felt that the
man was insulting hini, but did not quite comprehend
how.
" Go call your father, I say," repeated his tormentor.
" I'll call Jube if you want me to," said Paul, with the
dignity of a little prince, " but if I were to call ever so
long my father — oh, my father 1 — will never, never come."
The pale face of the child burned red as he began to
speak, but it was pallid again before he closed, and his
proud voice broke into sobs.
" Take that, and mind how you howl when I speak to
you again," cried the tyrant, giving that pale cheek a
blow with the palm of his hand.
The little fellow staggered back and uttered a faint
cry, but in an instant the dignity of blood aroused itself
even in that childish heart. He stood up bravely, pride
of race sparkling through his tears.
" I am not a slave, and you have struck me."
The mate laughed.
" Well done, my little bantam rooster, give us another
fling."
The boy's face flamed red under the insulting laugh.
" I am only a little boy ; besides, papa says gentlemen
never fight with their fists, so if I were a man it would
be all the same — but Jube can fight like you — he knows
how — yes, I'll call Jube."
" Not till I've knocked all the infernal pride out of
your little body," exclaimed Thrasher, starting up and
making a dash at the boy.
He was too late. The little fellow had cleared the
cabin stairs with the leap of a fawn, and rushing across
the deck where Jube was standing, seized him by the
garments.
64 THE FLOGGING.
" Jube, good Jube, you can fight — that man down-
stairs wants you — he struck me here on my face, the
very spot my mother kissed — with his hands so — he
struck me."
There was no need for the boy to say this, for three
blood red finger marks glowed like living fire across his
delicate cheek.
The gladiator broke into Jube's eyes as he saw these
marks. His hand clenched and unclenched itself, and
he ground his white teeth in ferocious rage. The savage
African was fully aroused in him then.
" Look," he said, towering upward, till his athletic
person was revealed in all its powerful proportions —
" look, your master has struck my master's son — I'll kill
him !"
"You will, ha!" cried the loud voice of Thrasher,
who had followed the boy on deck. " You will, lump
of ebony, will you ? Well, let's begin at once. I say,
Rice, take that fellow to the rigging, and give him a
couple of dozen. I'll let him know that white folks
have the say here."
Jube did not understand this order, for it was given
in English, but he guessed something of the truth when
the group of sailors, that had stood looking on, broke up
in a commotion, and two of the strongest came toward
him menacingly.
" What is it, tell me — what are you going to do with
Jube?" inquired the boy, going up to Rice, who, with
all the men who had been trading to St. Domingo for
3^ears, had a rude knowledge of French.
" Go away, shaver, get down below, nobody wants to
hurt you, and if they did I wouldn't let 'em by jingo I
THE FLOGGING: 65
but the nigger there, mutinied, and hell have to catch
it."
"Don't, don't hurt Jube," cried the boy in an agony
of fear, " what has he done ?"
" He's threatened the captain — that is, he's threatened
the one who took the captain's place, and that 'ere's
mutiny on the high seas, do you understand ?"
The sailor put Paul aside as he gave the desired in-
formation, and joined his comrade who had seized
upon Jube, who inquired fiercely what they wanted
with him.
" Don't stand to talk, but lash the nigger up, and
give him an extra dozen for his impudence !" shouted
the captain; "no parley, but go to work."
While Jube stood half at bay, doubtful of the evil
that threatened him, the two sailors sprang upon him,
and began to take off his outer garments, while half a
dozen others stood ready to aid them, should the poor
fellow resist. There was a desperate struggle, but it
lasted only a few moments ; great as Jube's strength was,
it proved nothing opposed to the powerful force arrayed
against him. In a few moments the poor fellow stood
with his bare shoulders glistening in the sunshine, and
all his muscles quivering with the fierce restraint that
had been put upon them. Each hand was manacled by
the iron gripe of his captors, who were stern but not
mocking, while Thrasher, who looked on with a cold
smile, muttered :
" Yes, my fine fellow, we'll teach you the difference
between this deck and Port au Prince — here white folks
are white folks."
Paul stood looking on, wild with terror. "What
4
66 THEFLOGGING.
were they doing ? Would they kill Jube before his eyes ?
Had he been the cause of this ?"
The men dragged Jube away, heedless of his broken
cries. With them a punishment at the rigging was no
very extraordinary occasion, and when exercised on a
negro was not altogether a disagreeable excitement
But Rice, more merciful than the rest, came back, and
attempted to persuade the child away from the deck,
but Thrasher confronted him at the gangway, and or-
dered him back.
" Let the youngster stay and see the fun ; it'll do him
good," he said; "if he keeps up that whimpering I'll
give him a dose, too."
Rice stood a moment with something of revolt in his
eyes, but seemed to think the question not worth a
quarrel, and slowly retreated, dragging the child with
him. The mate did not deem it prudent, perhaps, to
urge the seaman too far, so Rice withdrew to the re-
motest part of the deck, and lifting the child in his arms,
pretended to point out a ship which he persisted was
hovering on the line of the horizon.
But this humane ruse was of no avail. With the little
heart quivering in his bosom like a wounded bird, and
every sense awake to the danger of his friend, Paul was
not to be interested in any thing. His white face was
turned anxiously over the sailor's shoulder, and he lis-
tened keenly.
It came at last, a sharp, cutting twang. The boy
uttered a shriek, and struggling from the sailor's arms,
fell upon the floor, shuddering all over. Again, again,
and again ; harder, fiercer, and with a biting sharpness
that made the blood curdle in that young heart, the
blows fell, then a cry, shrill with agony.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 67
The boy leaped to his feet, and breaking away from
the kind hold of the sailor, went staggering across the
deck, pale and wild, stung almost to death with the pain
of those lashes.
The captain stood near the masthead, smoking a
cigar. He did not lose a single puff — nay, between the
lashes he would sometimes retain the smoke with his
lips, and emit it enjoyingly, as the blows fell, thus keep-
ing lazy time with the torture he was inflicting.
Half blind, almost dead, the boy came toward him, and
fell at his feet, clasping his hands and holding them
up in dumb, pitiful entreaty, for the voice was dead
within him, and his pale lips uttered moans instead
of words.
"Ha! you have come to, have you?" exclaimed the
mate, taking the cigar from his mouth, and winding a
loose fragment of tobacco leaf around it. " I thought
as much. Well, never mind, the music's nearly half
over now — then your turn shall come."
Those little hands dropped, and the child fell forward
on his face ; a faint quiver which followed each crack
of the lash was all the sign of life he gave.
CHAPTER VII.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.
THE threat of violence which Thrasher uttered against
the delicate creature at his feet, might have been only
an ebullition of his dormant hatred of the boy — the bit-
68 A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.
terest and most deadly hatred known to humanity —
that of a bad man for the object he has wronged ; but
wanton or earnest, the threat had its effect, for Rice
strode to Thrasher's side, and bending to his ear, whis-
pered.
" I say, captain, we've had enough of this ere, I
reckon. Jest order the men to unsling that nigger, or
I will."
Thrasher took the cigar from his mouth, and held it
smoking between his fingers.
" What's the meaning of this, Rice?" he said, mildly,
knocking the loose ashes away with his little finger, as
he eyed the seaman with a keen side glance.
" What I said afore ; we've had enough of flogging for
one day, at any rate."
"I'd do any thing to oblige you, Rice, be sure of
that, any thing but give up my authority before the
men."
" The men don't know what I'm saying to you. Any-
way, jest give orders for 'em to wait till we understand
one another."
The mate lifted his hand, at which signal the man
who had just raised the lash, which was growing red
and wet in the sunshine, dropped it heavily. The thong
fell upon the deck, leaving a crimson trail along the
white boards, while its holder stood panting and out of
breath from the violence of his exercise.
" Well now, Rice, what is the meaning of all this ?"
said the mate, a little anxiously.
" It don't mean nothing, only this, captin — I won't
have that ere nigger struck another blow in this child's
hearin'. As for the nigger hisself, I don't care a quid
of tobaccer, but human natur' can't stand that sight — at
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 69
any rate, I cant and won't — so if you expect me to
keep a close jaw, order them to let the nigger down at
once."
" Hush — speak lower, Rice. You see I must keep up
my authority. You can understand that. I'd give the
fellow up with pleasure to please you, Rice ; but this is
the first punishment on board since I came into the
command."
" Since you came into the command — -jest so."
"And if I give up now, it'll be all day with my
authority; and that'll never do."
" There's something in that ere," answered Rice,
with an uneasy hitch of his garments, " but then there
mustn't be no more flogging afore this little chap, no
how. I don't want to be obstreperous neither. Sup-
posing you shut the fellow up, and keep him on bread
and water a few days — I shouldn't mind that."
" But, he's a good cook — we can't spare him, Rice."
" Must," answered the sailor.
" Must," repeated the the mate, with a gleam in his
side glance.
" Must," repeated Rice, settling his garments afresh.
The mate hesitated awhile, eyeing the sailor askance,
but Rice stood solidly on the deck, looking him in the
face as if certain of his answer.
"Very well, pass the order. Remember, I let off a
dozen lashes, and give him irons, with bread and water,
in exchange. Make that well understood."
"Aye, aye, never you fear," was the prompt reply.
"As for this imp of Satan," said the mate, spurning
the prostrate boy lightly with his foot, " I'll deal with
him."
" Don't do that, Mr. Thrasher ; you've struck that ere
70 A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.
child once too often. Try it agin, and there ain't a man
on board this 'ere brig as won't rise agin you."
" Indeed 1" said Thrasher, closing his teeth hard, "and
you "
" I'll head 'em, and take you home in irons."
Thrasher turned a dull white, and, for an instant, a
Bound as if his teeth were beginning to chatter, came
faintly through his lips, but he turned it off with a laugh.
" Hang me if I care what you do with the fellow or
the boy. I only wish we had left them behind ; that
would have settled it once for all."
"But seeing as they're here, I won't stand by and
have 'em murdered outright."
" Well, well, as you like ; it won't pay for us to quar-
rel, Rice."
" Enough said, captain."
"Now I'll go down and finish my breakfast," said
Thrasher, tossing the end of his cigar overboard.
" Confounded coffee the fellow sent down ; that was
what commenced the row, I believe ; but I'll try another
cup."
"Aye, aye, better go down and leave the rest to me,"
said Rice, stooping tenderly over the boy. " Come,
get up, my little chap ; it's all over ! No use wilting
down in this way! poor fellow, poor fellow, how he
shakes 1"
The child, who had been lying with a hand pressed
hard over each ear, lifted his head, and turned his white
face on the seaman.
" Is it over ? Have they killed him ? Oh ! Jube,
Jube!"
This pathetic cry reached the unhappy man, who had
just been taken down from his place of torture. With
A KEBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 71
his helpless hands hanging loose, and the red drops
falling from his shoulders, he came reeling across the
deck, and lay down by the boy, like a great Newfound-
land dog wounded unto death.
Paul received him with a gush of tears. He took the
handkerchief of delicate cambric from his bosom, where
it had rested sacred till then, for his mother had placed
it there, and tenderly wiped the drops of agony that
still hung on Jube's brow. The poor negro, always
treated with gentle household kindness till then, moaned
aloud, not with the pain — he was brave enough, poor
fellow — but from a sense of the desolation that had fallen
on his master's son.
" Oh, young master, young master, who will help you
now when Jube has only the power of a dog left ? never
'till now, never 'till now, was Jube striped with a whip !
What will become of him? He had nothing but his
strength, and they have taken that !"
" Come, come," said Rice, " it isn't all over yet, by a
long shot."
The negro looked up with his heavy, bloodshot eyes,
in which there was a gleam of patient heroism that
touched the sailor greatly, while the boy grew faint and
gasped for breath.
" Don't, don't," pleaded Rice, patting the boy gently
with his rough hand. "As for you, cuffy, keep a stiff
upper lip. I'm to put you in the hold, and feed you on
bread and water ; but I'll see that the handcuffs ain't too
tight, and as for the grub, why some of us chaps will go
on half rations to give you a meal now and then."
" I don't care about the place you put me in," said
Jube, mournfully, " or what they feed me on. If they
chain mo down hands and feet I won't say one word ;
but the little master, what will they do with him?"
72 A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT.
"Never you mind about that, caffy ; I'll see to him.
He shall have enough to eat, any how."
" But that man — he'll strike poor little master again,
and Jube chained down in the bottom of the ship."
The great tears rolled over Jube's face as he said this,
and he shook violently.
"No," said Rice, with an honest sailor's oath, which
was profane in its language, but noble in its meaning,
" the captain shan't touch him agin, I give you my hand
on it."
Jube took the rough hand in his trembling grasp and
kissed it gratefully.
" Take me down, Mr. Captain, take me down ; get out
the irons ; bring on the bread and water ; you'll see that
Jube will wear 'em, and sing like a bird, so long as
you take care of him."
" That's hearty now," cried Rice, pleased to the
depth of his really kind heart. " Just give up, and it'll
be all the easier. I've had the bracelets on in my puppy
days, over and agin. It aint nothing."
" I'm ready," answered Jube, making a brave effort
to smile, and staggering to his feet, where he stood
shaking all over from the shock of pain that had been
given to his whole system. " I'm ready. Good-by, little
master."
" Paul set up on the deck, and lifted his hands piti-
fully, while his pale, cramped features began to quiver
with coming tears.
" Botheration, 'taint nothing. I'll smuggle the little
craft down to see you every day, if not oftener. Do
you hear that, shaver?"
Tears swelled into the boy's eyes, and he covered
them with liis hands, moaning painfully.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 73
Rice was a good deal troubled that his efforts at con-
solation had so little effect, but all at once his face
brightened, and thrusting a hand deep into the pocket
of his trowsers, he brought forth a huge jackknife, and
opened it temptingly.
" Look a here, little whipper-snapper, just look a here,
no doubt about it, I'm a going to give you this very
identical knife, I am, sure as a gun."
The boy took his hands away, and gazed wonder-
ingly at the great, buck-horn handle, and the hooked
blade, to which tiny fragments of plug tobacco clung
lovingly.
"All right," he said, closing the blade with a jerk.
" I thought you'd be surprised. Isn't it a sneezer ?
Where's your pocket?"
As Rice thrust the knife into the silken lined pocket
of Paul's dress, the boy looked downward with vague
interest; but, all at once, his face brightened. He
snatched at the knife eagerly, and tried to open it.
" It's rather stiff, I reckon, for them little fingers,"
said Rice, opening the knife again; "but, never you
mind, I'll drop a little lamp ile on the jint, and it'll open
easy as whistling, it will."
" Is it strong — is it sharp ?" cried the boy, touching
the hooked blade with his delicate fingers. " Would it
kill a man ?"
" Why, Lord love yer eyes, yes ! Jest turn the pint
upwards, and it'd rip its way like blazes. But what der
ye ask that for ?"
" Jube," said the boy, in sad, earnest tones, holding
up the knife, "if he strikes me again, and you are by,
just take this and kill me at his feet. I'd rather die a
thousand times than live to see you whipped for my
sake."
74 A R E B E L L I 0 U S SPIRIT.
" Give it to me," said Jube, with a gleam of his old
African ferocity. "I'll use it, but not on you, little
master — not on you 1"
" Look a here," said Rice, hitching about uneasily in
his clothes. " You jest let the boy's knife alone, will
ye ? I guv it to him for a plaything, and it's hisen, not
yourn. Do ye want to be slung up again ? Here comes
the captin — now up with ye, for I must be cross as
blazes, or he'll think we're confabulating something
against him. Come, look sharp, nigger, I can't wait
here all day for you to snivel over a flogging as you
ought to be grateful for, 'cause you arned it." To this
Rice added, in a low tone : " Look scared, as if I had
been a worrying you tooth and nail, or he won't trust
you with me." Then raising his voice, he went on
abusing poor Jube, till the mate came forward with a
smile upon his face.
" That's right, my good fellow, take him down. He'll
be an example for the men. They're beginning to want
one. Off with him — plenty of irons, and don't be too
particular about the bread or the water either."
"Aye, aye, I'll see to him," cried Rice, ferociously.
" Come, march, tramp — off with you, cuffy ! You never
seed sich a pair of bracelets as I've got for ye down
below."
Jube kept his eyes bent to the deck, that no one
might mark the ferocious hate that burned in them — .
hate that re-strung his nerves, and made them tough as
iron.
" You'll learn to threaten me !" said the captain,
scoffing at the negro, as he passed.
Jube did not lift his eyes, but passed on. Paul arose
and followed.
A REBELLIOUS SPIRIT. 75
" Hallo ! what is the youngster after ?" cried Thrasher.
"I want to go with Jube," said the boy, shuddering
under the captain's eye.
"You want to go with Jube, ha I" cried the mate,
mocking the gentle tones, which might have won pity
from a Nero. " Well, you won't go with Jube, do you
hear that ? I aint likely to give up cook and cabin-boy,
too, so just march for the caboose."
Rice turned back, leaving Jube near the gangway.
" Look a here, captain," he said, in a low voice.
<( Don't put upon that little shaver so ! It's too bad ;
he's a peaked child, just out of his mother's lap, and
this ere sort of work will kill him sure as a gun."
"Well, if it does, Rice, what's the loss?"
"Wai, it'd be a good deal to me, anyhow. I've sort
a took a shine to the boy."
" That's unfortunate," sneered the mate, " because I,
being commander here, have just done the other thing."
" Hate him like pison — I knowed it from the first."
"Well, what of it?"
" Nothing — only as I've took a notion to him, and he
kinder likes me, supposing you jest give in a trifle, and
let the chap alone. I shall be much obleeged to you if
you will."
Thrasher turned on his heel, saying, with assumed
carelessness, for he did not like the gleam of those gray
eyes, "Well, well, we'll talk about that another time."
" Aye, aye," responded the sailor, with a nod of the
head, which had a meaning in it that Thrasher did not
like.
76 THE BOX OF JEWELS.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BOX OP JEWELS.
"I'LL have an end of this," said Thrasher, as he went
into the cabin restless and anxious. Throwing himself
on the locker, he began muttering to himself. " As for
keeping this child to hang around my neck like a mill-
stone, I never will. He's old enough to remember every
thing ; and if the negro tells tales he'll be sure to cher-
ish them. What possesses Rice to rise up against me
in this way ? If he'd been quiet, I'd have had 'em both
under water before half the voyage was over."
Thrasher lay awhile revolving these thoughts in his
mind, without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.
At last, a new anxiety seized upon him ; he started up,
and went to the closet set into the wall, in which he had
seen Captain Mason secure the box of jewels that Jube
had placed in his keeping.
" It's fortunate I secured this," he muttered, taking a
key from his vest pocket, and fitting it into the lock.
" He didn't know I was on the watch, careful as he was.
Ha, it's all here ! and that nigger knows it as well as I
do. He'll tell, and then Rice '11 take another hitch in
the eternal rope that's being knotted around me. I
would give any thing to know exactly what the fellow
is at, but I won't ask questions, that's against my prin-
ciples ; they let out too much."
As he spoke, Thrasher sat down, placed the bronze
box on his knee, and forced the lid open. Just as we
have seen them before, the jewels lay huddled together,
THE BOX OF JEWELS. 77
without cushions or caskets ; but, here and there, a frag-
ment of crimson or white satin clung to them as if they
had been torn away from their cases in wild haste.
" Now, I dare say, this is worth lots of money, if one
only knew about it," he said, taking up a necklace,
formed in links of large, oblong opals, with rainbows
breaking in fragments from their hearts, and rivulets of
diamonds running around them. " How it glitters !
This would be pretty for her. I wonder if she'd take
it from me now ? or warn me off as she did that evening ?
Well, I don't know about that — a poor wretch, with
nothing but his good looks, and so on, to recommend
him, is another thing from a fellow that can come to a
woman with both hands full of yellow gold and such
things as this. Wouldn't they blaze on that white neck 1
— such a neck, with shoulders that dimple like a baby's
hand I I saw them once when she was dressed to go
out with him. She little thought I was under the win-
dow, and that a corner of the paper curtain was turned
up, just leaving a peep-hole. How softly the white
dress was folded over her bosom. Lord, how my heart
went down as she put on that lace cape, and fastened it
with a wild rose that he had given her before my very
face ! No wonder I hated him ! there isn't a man on
earth that could have helped it. Handsome — was he
really handsomer than I ? did she love him so very
much ? Oh, how it blazes ! These are real diamonds,
no mistake about that. How the light rains from them !
Oh, how I'd like to see it flashing on her neck, just as it
was then, with two or three of these things in her yellow
curls. Women like these gew-gaws ; and she's fond of
pretty things — like a child about them ; besides, she'll
be poor enough before I get home, she and the child —
his child."
78 THE BOX OF JEWELS.
He crushed the necklace in his hand, as the image of-
a pretty, fair haired baby girl 'rose before him, and
crowded it fiercely down into the box. " She'd be want-
ing some of them for her, I dare say. Well, perhaps
that woman could do any thing with me ; in fact, when
I first knew her, any kind woman, from my mother
down, would mould me as she liked, I was wax then ;
but after she married him — well, it's no use thinking
what one has been, or how much better things might
have turned out ; there's iron enough in me now. Still,
I loved her then well enough to go mad and run away
from all that ever cared for me. I might have been a
gentleman ; the old folks educated me well enough for
that or any thing else, but she drove me out before the
mast. Storms and hardships was what I wanted ; I got
enough of it in the end. It made me tough and hard
as the rocks we sometimes narrowly escaped. Cruel,
too — every one says that — but I could be kind to her
and the little girl, perhaps, if the mother loved me. If
not, oh, how I should hate the blue-C3red imp."
These thoughts seemed to excite the man bej^ond
anything that persons knowing his stern character would
have believed. His hands clutched and unclutched
themselves in the jewels, his lips quivered, and alternate
gleams of fire and clouds of mist chased each other in
his e}res. He started up, thrust the box back to its
closet, forgetting the fears that had urged him to seek
for it, and putting the key back into his pocket went on
deck. The first sharp gust of wind that swept his face
carried off these feverish thoughts and he grew hard as
rock again.
Paul was on deck, crouching down among the barrels
and bales of merchandise that offered him friendly con-
THE BOX OP JEWELS. 79
cealmcnt. Wretched and heart-broken, the child
watched for Rice. When he saw Thrasher, fear made
him shrink together and hold his breath as,if some wild
beast were creeping along his path. After a little, the
mate went down again and Rice appeared.
The boy crept from his hiding-place and came up to
the sailor.
" What have you done with him? please tell me."
" Oh, here you are, as large as life," said Rice, who
had missed Paul from the deck, and felt some relief at
finding him alone and so quiet. " Done with him ? why
cleared out a snug harbor in the hold, and anchored him
safe and sound. Come along, if you want to see."
" Oh, yes, yes, I want it so much. Is it dark ?"
"Rayther, I should think."
" May I hold your hand ?"
"Aye, aye, come along afore the captain knocks us all
aback."
" Who goes there," cried out a voice from the cabin
stairs.
" Nobody but Rice and this 'ere little shaver," an-
swered Rice, facing round to meet Thrasher.
" Where are you taking him ?"
"Nowhere just now — he wants to take a look out."
" Very well — pass on."
Thrasher went down to the cabin again ; he had seen
Rice as he led the boy across the deck, and understood
the opposition which was going on to his wishes. The
train of thought that had seized him while examining
the jewels had not entirely passed away, but with it
came others appealing to his worst passions, and ming-
ling themselves, as evil things sometimes will, with much
that was tender and pure in the man's nature. He was
80 THE BOX OF JEWELS.
not all bad — what human being is ? — but he was a strong
man, and used his evil strength without scruple to se-
cure the love, which was, in truth, wounding him daily
with its hungry cries.
Thrasher was afraid of Rice, and with him fear was
an incentive to action. Jube and the boy Paul were also
sources of great anxiety. They might interfere with
his one great hope, and utterly destroy the brilliant fu-
ture that lay so temptingly before him. All this was
food for thought, and made him more than usually
morose.
The sensitive nature of the boy Paul had suffered
acutely by the indignity that had been put upon him,
and still more by the awful scene of Jube's punishment.
But there was a noble spirit in that little frame, and
though he shrank from encountering his enemy, it was
not from a cowardly feeling, but as a brave man may
evade a wild beast that possesses a hundred-fold of his
own physical powers. No amount of punishment would
have induced the child to submit meanly ; but he was a
creature of exquisite refinement, and had, all his little
life, been shielded from the first approach of sorrow.
Within the last few weeks, he had been cast headlong
into the boiling vortex of the most terrible scenes that
ever disgraced humanity — scenes that drove many a
stout man insane, and left a whole population at the
mercy of savage, maddened slaves. He, a young, sensi-
tive child, brought up in luxury, shielded from the very
breath of a flower if it was not grateful to his fine sense —
loved by his parents — idolized by a host of servants —
had struggled through death, and horrors sharper than
death, to find himself worse off a thousand times on
board that brig, than any of his father's slaves had ever
been.
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 81
And now his only friend was torn away, and cast into
the black depths of the hold, smarting with pain, writh-
ing under the ignominy of a first blow, and chained hand
and foot like a mad dog. If little Paul had known that
the captain would kill him, I think he might have found
his way to that poor friend.
At last they were together, down in the bla,ck hollows
of the ship, with scarcely a breath of air, and surrounded
by a host of uncouth objects, which appalled them like
the walls of a prison. They had no light, and the rush
and gurgle of the waves sounded horribly distinct.
Jube held up bravely after his little master came to bear
him company. No groan escaped his lips, but he in-
sisted on sitting up, and made Paul nestle close to him,
striving to soothe and comfort the child, spite of his
own keen suffering.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
CHAINED in the hold, drifting away — it was only after
dark that Paul could visit his friend without fear of de-
tection. On the third night, they were together in the
hold. Thrasher himself had been down just before, and
finding Jube without irons, had riveted them on his
limbs with his own hands, so the poor fellow was bowed
down with the weight of his chains, and could not even
hold the child to his bosom when he came to share his
solitude.
It was very dark, and Paul was compelled to feel his
5
82 CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
way through the freight heaped up on each side the
place where Jube was confined.
" Jube, Jube ! do you hear?" he called out, in a fright-
ened voice..
Jube lay still, for he was afraid of frightening the boy
by the clank of his chains, but he called out softly,
" Yes, little master, here I am, just here, don't hurt
yourself against the boxes."
" Can't you come and help me, Jube ; it's dark as mid-
night."
"Well, little master, it ain't just convenient this
minute ; but if j'ou'll listen while I talk, and come by the
sound, it'll bring you right straight to Jube."
"Yes — yes, I hear; keep speaking, Jube, but not too
loud. What a noise the water makes to-night, and the
ship pitches so I can hardly stand. Oh, here you are,
dear Jube ; just hold out your hands, to steady me.
What's that ?"
" Only the handcuffs ; but don't you mind, they don't
amount to much after all — screwed a little tight — but
not unpleasant, if it wasn't for that."
" Chained you — chained you !" said the boy, in a voice
of such keen anguish that Jube forced a little, hoarse
laugh, in order to convince him that being chained hand
and foot, in the black hold of a vessel, was rather a re-
freshing amusement than otherwise. "Why, it ain't
nothing, little master, just see here !"
He tried to lift his hands, but the iron galled his
wrists, and forced a groan from his brave heart.
" Oh, Jube, Jube, they will murder you !"
"Not they — why it's nothing."
" Let me help you hold the irons up, they drag on
your poor hands — there, does that make them lighter ?"
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 83
"A good deal, little master ; every thing is light when
you come to se* .Tube."
The gentle boy had knelt down in the darkness, and
was striving to hold up the chains that dragged in rusty
links from the poor fellow's hands.
"Are you hungry, Jube ?"
" No, not at all, little master ; had a splendid dinner
just now."
The poor fellow had just eaten half a cake of hard
sea bread soaked in water.
" Because I've saved my dinner," said the child, " and
we'll eat it together."
" Oh, little master, there never was but one angel like
you that ever I saw."
" Mamma !" said Paul, softly, " you mean her, I know."
"Yes; who else?"
" I shall never be beautiful and kind like her, Jube —
never I but, when she finds us, you will tell her how I
have tried to be good and patient, Jube ?"
"Yes, little master."
"How mournfully you say that. Are you crying,
Jube?"
" Crying ? no, no ; don't you hear how I laugh ?"
" That's worse yet ; the chains are breaking your
heart, Jube."
"No, I like 'em; they're a sort of company."
" Company!"
" Yes ; when I'm all alone in the daytime, you know,
,1 can jingle tunes with 'em."
" It's awful music, Jube ; my heart trembles when I
hear it. Besides, I cannot get close to you, the iron
keeps me off."
" Just creep up to this side, little master, and lean
against my shoulder ; the feel of you gives me heart."
B4 CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
Paul crept close to his friend, and pissed one arm
over his chest as his cheek rested on the%houlder turned
lovingly for its reception.
" How the water beats and roars," said Paul, clinging
close to his friend ; "it sounds like that night."
"Yes, I've been listening to it all day; sometimes it
seems close, too, as if it would leap in and tear me to
pieces ; but that is when you are not here."
" How it moans, Jube I"
" Don't tremble, little master, it's only the water, and
that isn't cruel like men."
" Hallo, here, havn't you a voice, cuffy ? Here's some
prog, and I've brought something to rig np a light that
you can see to eat by."
It was Rice, with a tin basin in his hand half full of
lard, in which a twist of cotton lay coiled like a serpent.
" There, just wait till I set this down shipshape, and
you shall see what I've got; some boiled beef and lash-
ings of grog; havn't wet my whistle to-day. Hallo,
cuffy, what's this — a cargo of iron on board ! — who did
that ere?"
" He did it," said Jube, while Paul lifted his head;
with hope in his eyes.
"He did it, did he !" Here the sailor emitted half a
dozen heavy oaths, in broad English, which neither the
boy nor Jube understood. " Just give us hold here ; if
I don't smash every link on 'em afore ten minutes is
over, call me a land lubber that's afraid of his mammy.
Hold out them hands, blackball. By jingo ! can't do it
without a hammer. Yes, this'll do ; smash, here it goes !
You like that music, my little commodore, does ye ?
Now out with yer feet, blackball, and when the captain
comes, tell him I did it."
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 85
Jube, who had been painfully cramped for hours, stood
up and stretched himself, as the irons fell with a clank
to his feet.
" It seems kind o' refreshing, I reckon," said Rice,
bringing one keg forward, on which he placed his light,
and another which was to serve as a table. " Where's
that jackknife, whipper-snapper ? Out with it, and cut
up the grub. Set to, cuffy. Glory ! how the ship rolls
and pitches ! We'll have work afore morning. The fel-
low will crowd all sail ; he'll fetch the brig into the mid-
dle of next week at this rate. Never mind ; set to, all
hands, we may as well go to Davy Jones' locker with a
full cargo on the stomach as with empty lockers."
Jube was nearly famished, notwithstanding his boasted
dinner, and he accepted this hearty invitation with zest.
Paul tasted a few mouthfuls of the food, but with strange
hesitation, as if he were putting some restraint on his
appetite. His own little store of provisions remained
untasted, and he made no effort to bring it forth.
" Why don't you stow away ?" asked Rice, cutting a
lump of beef in two and splicing it, as he observed, to a
piece of bread. " What are you afeared of?"
" I — I'd like to save a little, if you please," said Paul,
timidly.
" Save a little I why, what's the use ? There's plenty
on board ; I can get a double allowance any time."
" You can, and will you ?" cried the boy, eagerly.
" Why, yes, but what for ?"
" We may want it, who knows ? The captain may for-
bid you to come here, and then Jube would starve."
" Well, that's sensible. It ain't likely to happen, but
then there's no harm in a full locker. I'll bring down
a bag of bread this minute if he's in the cabin — then
86 CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
there's plenty of oranges in the cargo ; if you come to
hunger, cuffy, you can stave in a box, and hide the
boards. Now fall to, youngster. There's no fear of a
famine. "
The boy was very hungry, but it made him faint,
rather than eager. Something seemed to excite him ;
perhaps it was the gathering storm, through which the
brig labored heavily. Perhaps he had some vague, child-
ish hope, scarcely understood by himself; certainly his
eyes had never shone so brightly before. His face was
that of a young hero preparing for battle.
The brig plunged and reeled more and more. Her
timbers began to strain and creak ; the waves leaped
and howled against her sides like charges of cavalry in
fierce action. The roar and boom of the storm was
terrible.
The two men who sat together in the dim light, float-
ing upon the basin near by, looked at each other. The
negro's face was ashen gray ; the sailor lost his ruddy
color ; but the boy's eyes grew bright as stars.
" It's on us — it's on us — and every stitch of canvas
out !" cried Rice. " I knew he was acting like a fool,
but didn't expect this. Splurge 1 heave ! Crack — crack !
Jerusalem ! there goes the mainsail! Aye, aye."
The hoarse call of a trumpet rang through every cor-
ner of the brig.
"All hands on deck 1"
"Aye, aye !" shouted Rice, kindling to his work ;
" keep a stiff upper lip, cuffy, and cheer the boy, for we
are just as near Davy's Locker as any of us ever will
be again !"
They saw him plunge onward through the reeling
freight, and he was gone. The poor negro and the
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 87
child were left alone, not quite in darkness, for the cot-
ton wick still shimmered fitfully, and made the black-
ness beyond its little pale circle more dismal than ever.
It seemed just enough of light to see each other perish
by, and that was all.
Louder and fiercer grew the storm. The brig was
tossed upon it like a handful of drift wood ; every tim-
ber seemed to carry on a struggle by itself — every joint
wrenched and tore against its fastenings. The strained
rudder shrieked like a wild animal in the agonies of
death. The hoarse cry of the trumpet sounded like a
groan through the general turmoil. But all these sounds
were nothing to the howl of the winds, and the great up-
heaving rout of the waters, as they swelled and mingled
together in one tremendous uproar. The negro fell
upon his knees, trembling and ashen ; but the boy — the
gentle, sensitive child — stood up, with a smile on his
mouth and a beautiful brightness in his eyes.
" Don't be afraid !" he said, bending over the negro.
" The God that took care of my mamma when she fell
asleep, is here. Something tells me so."
The poor negro had no God of his own people to un-
derstand, so he hung upon the words that fell from
those young lips with unreasoning trust. The dusky
color came back to his cheek, and lifting his faithful
eyes upward, he said meekly :
" If you say so, young master, I believe it. Jube go
where you go ; she'll be sure to want him, too."
A fierce plunge — a recoil — and the brig stood still,
shivering in all her timbers, like a wild horse with its
fore feet over a precipice. It was but an instant. Then
a cataract of waters swept over her. She rolled upon
her side, and could not right herself ; a mighty throe,
88 CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
and she struggled back, working heavily. Another
plunge— a crash — a despairing cry from overhead — and
the boy started from his wrapt composure.
" Come, Jube, let us go up and tell them not to be
afraid."
The crew had given up. One man, Rice, stood at the
helm, resolute to meet death at his post when it came.
Thrasher stood firmly, with the trumpet grasped in his
right hand ; but his face was like marble, and he gave
no orders. The brig that he commanded was almost a
wreck. The sails had been swept away ; the mainmast
was in splinters ; not a vestige of her massive bulwarks
was left. The men were grouped together in sullen
despair. Nothing was to be done — they could only
stand still and wait. With that tornado tearing through
the mighty waters, and lashing them into great sheets
of angry foam, there was no contending. They huddled
together, that group of stout men, helpless as infants.
When despair was on every face, and the storm raged
fiercest, that pale, Heaven-eyed boy, came up through
the hatches, and stood among the sailors, smiling. He
did not speak, but the sweet serenity of his face gave
them courage.
The mainmast had fallen, dragging heavily on the
ship. The last order of the mate had been to cut it
away, but no one obeyed, and thus inevitable destruc-
tion lay before them.
" One more onset, my men !" cried Rice. " Clear
away the mast and she will right herself."
"Jube, give me an axe, I will help!" cried Paul ; and
the beautiful courage that shone in his face inspired the
men. They fell to work vigorously. The mast, with all
its entanglement of cordage, plunged into the boiling
sea, and the brig righted herself.
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 89
The storm was over, the dismantled brig still rode
the waves, for the staunch timber of New England does
not yield readily, and the strongest had been put to its
test in that gallant craft. Jube was sent back to his
imprisonment in the hold, where Paul sought him at
every opportunity ; but, from the night of the tempest,
a strange animation had marked the boy, sometliing
which no one could understand.
"Jube," he said, having left the deck on the third
night, when the sea was calm as if it had never known
a tempest, and ten thousand stars broke their flickering
gold on its waves. " Jube, it is time that we look for
mamma. God has taken care of her, I know, but we
must search and find her."
" Little master, I know where she is, we left her on
White Island."
" And you did not tell me when I was so near ; but
we cannot be fax off now, the storm drove us back.
Jube, I've been watching for something to happen, for
it is sure mamma wants us. Look behind that barrel,
and see how much bread I've saved. Then the oranges
Rice spoke of; he broke open a box, and I've got
plenty."
"Well, little master."
" They've been working on the side of the ship to-day,
and did not haul up the b'oat. That was what I've
been watching for. Take the bread and the oranges,
Jube, and let us go."
Jube arose, took up the little sack which the boy
pointed out, and followed his young master without a
question. They crossed the deck softly, dropped down
the side of the vessel unseen, and with the knife which
Rice had given him, Paul cut the boat loose from the
ship.
90 CHAINED IN THE HOLD.
The brig lay motionless, for she was still disabled,
and the boat rocked lightly on the waves, breaking the
starlight into golden ripples ; thus the boat and the half
wrecked vessel drifted apart. Three days of sunshine,
and calm, lonely, bright days, in which these two child-
like beings floated like people in a dream. The boy
wasnn search of his lost parents, and looked out for
them over the bright ocean with smiling and beautiful
faith. The slave hoped nothing, sought for nothing.
He was content by his young master's side. They had
no compass, and but one pair of oars, which proved of
little use, for the boat had no destination, nor its inmates
the remotest knowledge of their own reckoning. Thus
they drifted on three days without accident. No vessel
hove in sight, and all was a clear, heavy calm. On the
fourth day the bread and fruit were gone. Not a mouth-
ful of food, not a drop of water, save the great deep, a
draught of which would be delirium or death. The fifth
day, and the pangs of hunger had crept steadily on,
and gnawed at their vitals relentlessly. Paul no longer
gazed abroad on the waters, but lay faint and ill in the
bottom of the boat, looking up to the stars in the night
time, as if missing his mother on earth, he sought her
there. Thus they drifted on day and night, until the
end drew near. Jube managed to catch a little dew at
sunset, which he gave to the child. Rain fell once in
small quantities, and refreshed them, but still the cry
of famished nature went up for food, and there was
nothing but the salt water and the rainless heavens to
answer it.
Paul lay in the bottom of the boat, fading away, and
moaning with the pangs of famine; Jube bent over him,
breaking the hot rays of the sun from, the white and
CHAINED IN THE HOLD. 91
sunken face with his body, for they had no other shelter.
The boy moaned in his sleep, and called for his mother
in feeble anguish. Jube was very weak, but he managed
to lift that light weight so far as to lay the boy's head
on his knee.
With a spasm of pain the child awoke.
" Little master."
Jube's voice was like that of an old man, hollow and
broken. The boy looked up, tried to smile, and mur-
mured,
" Yes, Jube."
" Would you like something to eat, little master?"
" To eat — to eat," whispered the boy, opening his eyes
wildly.
" A piece of nice steak. You wouldn't mind its be-
ing cooked, would you ?"
" Steak ! — something to eat ! Oh, Jube, we shall
never eat again 1"
" Look here, little master, now be still and hear what
I say."
The boy made a struggle to collect his faculties.
" Little master, listen : when you find me lying here in
the boat, and you can't feel my heart beat when you lay
your hand here, just cut a slice out of my shoulder with
the jackknife."
The boy closed his eyes, shuddering.
" It won't be very hard eating."
The slave was feeling for the knife as he tempted the
famished child, who lay moaning across his knee. He
found it at last ; but his gaunt hands opened it with dif-
ficulty, for their strength was all gone.
The poor fellow felt for the spot where his heart beat
strongest. Then he spoke to the child again.
92 THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS.
The knife will be open, little master, don't forget what
I tell you."
He lifted the knife feebly, a flash of sunshine on the
blade gleamed across the half shut eyes of the boy. He
comprehended the meaning of Jube's words. He sprang
up, snatched the knife, flung it into the ocean, and fell
senseless on the bottom of the boat.
Jube burst into childish tears, and with his head bent
down to his breast, fell into a state of apathy.
When he looked up again a ship was in sight, coming
gallantly toward them. He gave a feeble shout, and
strove to arouse the child, but could not. Then he
took the cotton bag that had held their bread, and fas-
tening it to an oar, swung it wearily to and fro, crying
out with all his strength, which left nothing but moans
on his parched lips.
The ship bore down upon them, she came so near that
Jube could see her crew on the deck, then veered slowly
and faded away.
CHAPTER X.
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS.
SOME four or five miles from that lovely spot, where
the Housatonic and Naugatuc join their waters, stands
a large manufacturing village of no inconsiderable im-
portance. Iron foundries, paper-mills, India rubber
and silk manufactories cluster around one of the finest
waterfalls of New England. That waterfall is pictur-
esque even now, spite of the cottages, boarding houses,
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS. 93
hotels, railroad station, and tanneries, that have taken
the place of green woods, richly clothed hills, and a
valley so fragrant with wild flowers, that it was happi-
ness to breathe its very air.
But it is hardly worth while to describe this town aa
it is. Every thing, even the name, derived from an old
Revolutionary officer, is changed. My object carries
me back to a time when it was indeed one of the love-
liest spots in the world — a rich, deep valley, with a
noble waterfall thundering at its heart. High, curving,
and broken banks, almost mountainous in places, loom-
ing up or sloping back on either side, and two lovely
brooks pouring their bright, fresh waters into the river
above the falls.
One came winding around Rock Rimmond, softened
and shadowed by its grim heights. The other, pretty,
sparkling Bladens Brook, ran laughing and dancing
through the Wintergreen woods, on the opposite shore,
with a gush of cheerfulness that seemed like sunshine,
and leaped into the river just where it began to gather
up its waters for a plunge over the great falls, in ono
broad, rushing cataract of crystal. From the falls
downward, the valley was choked up with noble forest
trees, through which the river ran slowly and grandly
till it swept around the shadowy base of Castle Rock,
and disappeared on its way to join the Housatonic.
This rock, high, precipitous, and picturesque, termi-
nates all that we have to do with the valley, for its high
cliffs cut off the prospect in that direction, and all the
level space between it and the falls was one vast grove of
white pines, which formed the grandest masses of trees
I ever saw in my life.
A few hemlocks, a white poplar or so, with now and
94 THE HOUSE IN THE PINE VTOOD3.
then a magnificent oak variegated the woods, but great
pines predominated everywhere. The earth was littered
with their sharp leaves ; the wind sighed among their
branches as if it never could win a free passage through
their greenness. As for the sunshine, it only reached
the forest turf and velvet moss in a golden embroidery
— seldom with broad gleams. Never were there such
cool, green shadows as hung about those woods. The
noises that floated through them were strangely be-
wildering ; there was the roar and dash of the falls —
the clatter of machinery — for even in that day one
factory, among the first ever established in New Eng-
land, stood by the falls, and the sound of flying shuttles
and the beat of heavy looms, held a cheerful rivalry
with the flow of the waters and the rush of the winds.
Then came the bird songs, wild, clear, and ringing, lost
outside of the woods, but making heavenly music if jpu
but listened under the trees.
Just below the falls, so near as almost to be sprinkled
with the spray, and to gather foam wreaths about its
timbers, was a long, low, wooden bridge, linking two
villages together.
These villages crowned the two lofty banks overlooking
the falls, from which one took its name. Fall's Hill was
rendered most conspicuous by a pretty, white church,
with a tall, symmetrical spire, cutting sharply against the
sky, added to a cluster of superior dwelling houses,
and a country store. In front of this store, just on the
fork of the roads, stands, I hope to this day, a magnificent
old willow tree, under which people who came from afar
sometimes tied their horses, while they went up to wor-
ship in the church, which stood on the very highest
point of land to be found till you came to Rock Rinimond
THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS. 95
on one hand, or Castle Rock on the other. These cross-
roads cut in twa directions, one led to the Bungy hills,
and the other toward a red school-house and some strag-
gling dwellings in shrub oaks : beyond this, the geog-
raphy of the country is lost in a confusion of green hills
and woodlands, which form a pleasant and prosperous
farming country.
From Shrub Oak, the turnpike leads directly down
Fall's Hill with precipitous steepness, across the old
bridge, and through a sand hill, with a wall of white sand
thirty feet high on either side, directly into Chewstown,
on the opposite hill.
This cluster of houses took its name from some old
Indian, forgotten by his tribe, who lived and died in a
hut somewhere in the neighborhood, and at this day is
probably forgotten in a town where a change of time-
honored names seems to be a political fashion. At any
rate, it was called Chewstown then, and a smart, active
little village it was. For it had two crossroad taverns,
a great, barnlike Presbyterian meeting-house, and a
dashing, new Academy, which boasted of a pretentious
little cupola with a bell in it, mounted on the high-
est point of land that side of the river, and contrast-
ing itself saucily with the spire of the church on the op-
posite bank. Any number of roads crossed and recrossed
over the hill at Chewstown. There was the Derby road,
running along the banks of the river ; the New Haven
road, cutting through the sand banks in a parallel line,
and crossroads from the farming districts intersecting
them both. The fact is, Fall's Hill had a little more
than its share of the aristocracy. Chewstown made up
for that, by broader commercial opportunities. The
taverns were always in a flourishing condition, and a
96 THE HOUSE IN THE PINE WOODS.
blacksmith's shop, that looked like a foundry, brought
the farmers from far and near to get their horses and
oxen shod. Besides, there was a country store on the
corner, and three white cottages with basements, built
in a line like city houses, and the farmers on that side of
the river were often heard to say that Chewstown could
pull an even yoke with Fall's Hill any time of day, if
they had not got a steeple to their meeting-house.
In this village, Captain Mason had left his wife and
child, and here, also, Thrasher, the mate, was born.
Down in the outskirts of the pine woods, on the Fall's
Hill side of the Naugatuc, a river road ran along the
curving base of the hill, and wound seaward with the
stream. On this road, between the bridge and Castle
Rock, there was but one house, a low, white cottage, with
peach trees behind it, and lilac bushes in front. A
great tulip tree sheltered the low roof, and behind the
garden rolled the green billows of the pine woods. It
was a lonely, but very beautiful spot, such as a man like
Mason would be likely to select as a home for his beloved
ones.
Here, in fact, this good man had left his wife and only
child, the latter a charming little golden-haired creature
of four years old, when he sailed for St. Domingo in the
brig Floyd, which we know to have been left disabled
and drifting on the ocean. The vessel had been absent
six weeks beyond its time, and no intelligence had yet
reached her owners or that anxious woman, regarding
her fate. This voyage had been Mason's first experience
as captain ; his little savings had been invested in a
private venture, out of which he hoped to provide some-
thing— beforehand, to use his own words — for his wife
and little one.
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT. 97
Mrs. Mason was both sad and anxious — sad from the
gloom of hope deferred, and anxious because the little
provision made for her support had melted away, leaving
her almost in want. She was sitting in her neat parlor,
with one of the little girl's garments in her hands, sigh-
ing heavily with each drawing of the thread, when a
knock sounded at the door
She stopped, with the needle half through her work,
and listened. Of course, he would never have paused
to knock at his own door, but then, the very thought of
this wild possibility suspended her breath.
Again the knock sounded, and the young wife called
out with her usual hospitable voice,
" Come in."
The door opened, and a female entered, wrapped in a
dark red cloak — the hood of which she put modestly
back, revealing as fair a face as you often look upon in
an entire lifetime.
CHAPTER XI.
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT TO THE WHITE COTTAGE.
" OH, Katharine Allen, is that you ?" said Mrs. Mason,
with a touch of disappointment in her voice, which the
girl noticed with a pang. . j
" Yes, Mrs. Mason, I had got through my day's work,
and so ran down once more to see if — if you had heard
any thing yet."
" Yes, I thought so — it must be a comfort to have
some one to run to — I haven't a living soul I" said Mrs.
6
98 KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT.
Mason, a little petulantly, for Katharine had been at
the house more than once to ask these same questions,
and the young wife always shrank from acknowledging
that she had no good news. This feeling became more
and more painful as the time wore on, and her own heart
grew faint with apprehension.
"Not a word? Haven't you heard any thing?" fal-
tered the young girl, sinking into a chair, and turning
her great blue eyes on Mrs. Mason, with an intensity
of suffering that startled the unhappy woman into a
momentary forgetfulness of her own anxieties.
" No, Katharine, not one word. It breaks my heart
to own it, but not a breath of news has reached me
since the brig sailed."
" And she ought to have been in weeks ago ! What
can be the matter, Mrs. Mason ? tell me, oh do tell me,
if you have the least idea I"
" I can only guess like yourself, Kate. The ocean is
a treacherous thing to trust those you love with. The
storm of a single night may have made little Rose an
orphan."
The poor woman began to cry as she said this, and
calling the little girl to her knee kissed her with mourn-
ful tenderness.
" How fond you are of the little girl — it must be a
great comfort to have his child looking into your face !
One could endure almost any thing for that!" said
Katharine, evidently trembling as she spoke.
"A comfort and a pain, Katharine, for if he never
comes back — "
" Oh, don't — don't say that," cried the girl, shivering.
"The thought is enough to kill one: words — I could
not put that into words "
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT. 99
" I wish you would not take on so," said Mrs. Mason,
sharply. " It's bad enough to wait and wait, and — oh
dear, oh dear, what will become of us ?"
Here the poor woman burst into a flood of tears,
wringing her hands passionately.
" Mother," said little Rose, " are you crying because
pa hasn't come back with my pretty dress ?"
The mother could not answer for her sobs ; as for Kate
Allen, she sat looking at them with cold tears dropping
down her white cheeks, as if she longed to fall upon her
knees and ask them to pity her a little.
" What do you cry for, Katjr Allen ?" said the child,
rather jealous that any other one should weep but her
mother. " You have not got no pa, nor no husband out
to sea."
" Oh, God help me ! God forgive me ! I haven't, J.
haven't," sobbed the beautiful girl, rocking to and fro
on her chair.
Mrs. Mason checked her tears and looked on wonder-
ingly. This strange outburst of grief almost irritated
her, for, like her child, she rather craved a monopoly of
suffering. All at once a wild apprehension seized upon
her. What if Kate had heard — what if she knew that
the brig had gone down with every soul on board, and
had no strength to speak it out ! Frightened by this
new dread she started up and stood over the weeping
girl.
"Tell me — tell me all you have heard," she almost
shrieked. " If you don't want to see me drop dead at
your feet, before the face of my child, speak out !"
Katharine looked up ; amazement checked her tears,
and the pupils of her beautiful eyes dilated.
" I have nothing to say, Mrs. Mason ; I have not heard
a syllable, how could I ?"
100 KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT.
" And are you so very sorry for us ?"
" Does it make you angry, because I can't keep back
the tears ? Oh, it seems as if I could die, if any one
would feel for me."
" Why, Katharine, what is your trouble ?"
" Nothing — nothing — I'm not in trouble."
Mrs. Mason began to look serious, an old suspicion
flashed across her mind. She was not a woman of much
natural refinement, and the innate vanity of her nature
more than compassion spoke out in her next words.
" Katharine, speak out — is it about Nelson Thrasher
you are taking on so ?"
The blood rushed over that white face like a sudden
sunset, then the poor girl grew pale again, and purplish
shadows came out under her eyes, leaving them, oh, how
zjournful.
" You need not look so frightened, Kate — there's no
harm in it if you do love him, only you haven't got my
spirit, that's all."
" What ! — what do you mean, Mrs. Mason?"
" What do I mean ? why nothing worth mentioning."
A peculiar curve of the handsome lip, as Mrs. Mason
said this, made the young girl shiver from head to
foot.
" Yes, but you have a meaning when you speak of my
not having a spirit. Oh, tell me what it is I"
" Why nothing, Kate, only I thought you would have
more pride than to take up with another woman's leav-
ings."
"Another woman's leavings!" repeated Kate, all
aghast ; " another woman's leavings 1"
" That was what I observed," answered Mrs. Mason,
with a slight toss of the head. " Boasting isn't in my
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT. 101
line, or I could point out a certain person who gave
Nelse Thrasher his walking papers more than once, as if
I would condescend to him, when his superior stood
hat in hand."
" You — you — was it so ? when, when ?"
" Really, Miss Allen, you take away one's breath ; of
course it was before I married John Mason, as if there
could be a choice."
The poor girl was thunderstruck — that beautiful face
drooped slowly to her bosom, and she seemed to be
shrinking into a shadow. At last, she lifted her head
with a wan smile.
" That was four long years ago, more than four years
ago," she cried — " Four years ago."
" Well, what of that ; four years does not destroy the
truth."
"I don't believe it," said Katharine, very quietly,
"there's some mistake."
" Mistake ! what does the girl mean ? as if I didn't
know when a man persecutes me with his love. Makes
me a point blank offer, and goes off to sea in despair
when I marry his superior. Mistake, indeed !"
" No," persisted the girl, " I don't believe it ; no wo-
man could refuse him if he once offered. No woman on
earth ; it isn't in nature."
" Indeed, you have a mighty high opinion of Nelse
Thrasher, as if he was fit to be mentioned in the same
day with Captain Mason. I wonder at your daring to
say these things to me."
Katharine did not hear her ; she was searching the
past, urged and goaded in her memory by keen pangs
of distrust.
"Besides," she exclaimed, "he has been home since
, and never come near you, not even as a friend."
102 KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT.
" I'd like to see him have the impudence," was the
angry rejoinder.
Katharine seemed bewildered a moment, and then
clasped her hands in passionate despair. " What's the
use — oh, what's the use of saying this ! It's terrible,
and they both in the deep, deep sea."
Here Mrs. Mason's vanity broke down, and her true
womanliness asserted itself.
"God forgive us for quarreling about them," she
said, really penitent. " If they only come back, I shall
be as glad for your sake as you will be for mine. Don't
mind what I said, Katy, it isn't worth remembering.
Tell me now, are you really engaged to Thrasher ?"
"Yes." This little word came faltering through lips
as cold and white as snow.
"And you never told of it ?"
" What did I say — engaged ! No, we are not engaged.
How could I tell you so 1"
" Well, well, there's no harm in it if you are. God
Bend the Floyd and all hands safely back."
Those large eyes were lifted — oh ! how pleadingly —
to heaven, and then Katharine began to gather her cloak
more closely around her.
"You're not going !" said Mrs. Mason, ashamed of her
unwomanly outbreak. " Just take off your cloak, and
have a cup of tea. Rose and I haven't had ours yet ; I
fell to thinking over my work, and forgot it."
" No," said Katharine, more quietly, " I must go now;
mother will be anxious to hear. You forget, Mrs. Ma-
soa, that my half-brother is on board the brig."
" Well, true enough, my head was so full of that fel-
low, Thrasher, that I forgot that it might be some other
person you were crying about. It's hard, waiting and
KATHARINE ALLEN'S VISIT. 103
waiting in this way ; but we must have patience, I sup-
pose."
" I'll go now," said the girl, rising.
Little Rose, with the sweet instinct of childhood,
came up to where the young girl stood, and lifted up her
arms for a kiss.
Katharine bent down, with a flutter of the heart, and
left a kiss on the little rosebud of a mouth, but her lips
quivered, and the child grew sad under the mournful
caress.
When Katharine Allen was gone, Mrs. Mason sat
down to her work again. She was a vain, self-sufficient
woman, but not in reality an unkind one. The distress
which she had just witnessed left her in low spirits.
She was naturally of a hopeful disposition, and, in truth,
was quite incapable of the deep feeling which had dis-
turbed her in Katharine. Something would turn up and
set all things right, she was sure of that ; contrary
winds, heavy freight — there was some such reason why
the brig did not come to port ; what was the use of
fretting while these chances remained. As these con-
soling thoughts passed through her mind, she plied her
needle with increasing diligence. Rose must have her
new frock embroidered before her father came home. A
few more leaves in the vine that enriched the skirt, and
it would be completed. Mrs. Mason was almost out of
bread, or any thing from which bread is made, but she
was a woman to cover unsuitable garments with useless
embroidery, rather than turn her hand to any thing by
which her necessities could be supplied. She would
rather have seen little Rose hungry a thousand times
than ill dressed.
104 HOME PROM SEA.
CHAPTER XII.
HOME FROM SEA.
WHILE Mrs. Mason sat plying her needle, little Rose
wandered about the room, wondering what made pretty
Katharine Allen so very sorrowful, but keeping the
thoughts to herself. In the stillness, she heard a step
on the gravel walk outside the house. Then a white
lilac bush near the window was disturbed, and she saw
a man's face close to the glass. The child would have
cried out, but the tongue clove to her mouth, and she
stood transfixed with fear. She saw the door softly
opened, and a strange man step to the threshold. Then
her voice broke forth, and pointing her finger at the
stranger, she cried out :
" Mother, mother ! it's somebody from the sea !" Mrs.
Mason dropped both hands in her lap, and gazed breath-
lessly on the man. Every tint of color left her hand-
some face ; she tried to speak, but could not. The man
was so pale and so wild of countenance that she might
well have been stricken with deadly fear.
" Nelson Thrasher," she faltered at last.
He took a step into the room, but did not speak.
"Nelson Thrasher!" she almost shrieked. " If you
are a living soul, speak. Where is my husband ?"
The man recoiled a step, and well he might. The
question came on him so suddenly, it might have startled
the boldest man on earth. It absolutely seemed to ter-
rify him. He stood a moment staring at her, then
answered in a low, hoarse voice :
HOME FKOM SEA. 105
" I come to tell you about him."
The little girl caught the meaning of his words, rose
up and seizing his hand between both her dimpled palms
cried out :
" He comes to tell about pa! Oh, please sir, where is
he ? Why don't he come home ?"
Thrasher looked down in her face, and met the glance
of those eyes — her father's eyes. He instantly shook
her hands off as if they had been vipers, and with a ges-
ture which seemed to cast aside some terrible feeling,
threw himself on a chair.
" My husband 1" said Mrs. Mason. " Tell me, is he
coming? — is he well?"
"Your husband, John Mason, is dead 1"
" Dead ! dead 1" The poor woman grew faint under
the suddenness of this solemn announcement, and drop-
ped helplessly into her chair.
Thrasher sprang up, and stretching out his arms, re-
ceived her head on his bosom.
Little Rose stood in silent fear, watching them.
After a moment she went close to Thrasher, and pulled
at his coat.
" Let me hold mother — I don't want you there."
Thrasher pushed her away with one hand. The wo-
man lay as if she were dead against his heart, which
beat with iron heaviness, like the trip-hammer of a
foundry.
Again the child pulled at his skirts. She was crying
now.
" What is dead ? I say, man, what is dead ? I want
to know !"
" See!" answered Thrasher, lifting the woman's white
face from his bosom. " See !"
106 HOME FROM SEA.
" And is that it ?" whispered the child, through her
hushed tears. " Mother ! mother !"
The shock and suddenness of Thrasher's tidings had
overcome Mrs. Mason, but she was not entirely uncon-
scious. When the child called out in her sweet, pa-
thetic voice, she staggered from Thrasher's hold, and
falling back into her chair, held out both arms for Rose.
The little thing sprang to her lap with a cry of joy, and
instantly covered the troubled face with kisses.
" Now," she said, turning her face toward Thrasher ;
" now tell me about him, my dear, dear pa."
" Send the child a way, while I tell you," said Thrasher.
Rose clung to her mother's neck.
" No," said Mrs. Mason, " she must learn all some-
time, and I am stronger with her near."
There was a moment's silence, then Mrs. Mason said
very faintly,
" Was the ship lost ?"
" Almost — but it was not then it happened. We were
on shore at Port au Prince. The blacks had risen, and a
horrid murder of the white inhabitants was going on.
Mason would go on shore. I warned him, but it was
of no use. One night, when the massacre was at the
highest, he took all hands except one or two, and left
the ship. The negroes were hard at work, murdering
and burning like demons. He would venture among
them. It was dangerous — I told him so. Well he came
back at last with a woman and little boy."
" A woman I"
" Yes, a beautiful woman, one of the handsomest you
ever saw."
"Indeed!"
" He had saved her from a swarm of blacks, who had
HOME FROM SEA. 107
brought her and her son out for a carouse, under the
palm trees. The boy was brought on board, but they
carried the lady off to one of the little islands in the
harbor. Mason, "with some of the men, went down the
ship's side at night, and rowed off with her. After that
Mason was never at rest, always going off on private
expeditions. I did not like it, so one night, when he
was determined to go, I insisted on taking a turn on
shore mj'self. To own the truth, I had a little curiosity
to see the house where the lady had lived, and to be cer-
tain that she was not there still. Well, he consented,
and I went.
" It was a splendid house ; covered an acre of ground.
Such rooms, such gardens — I never saw any thing like
it. The house was so large that we could not tell if it
was inhabited or not, but while we were wandering
around, a great noise in the lower rooms alarmed us ;
we hurried through the long halls down to the under-
ground cellars.
" The negroes had been there before us. Every thing
was in confusion ; we waded ankle deep in red wine.
The cellar was half full of negroes who had been wallow-
ing there, and were now fierce with drunkenness. There
was not much light, for the negroes dropped their
torches, one by one, and the lees of the wine put them
out. How your husband came there, I do not know.
He rcust have followed us in one of the small boats.
Certain it is, when I was half down the steps his face
was the first I saw ; he was struggling for his life — A
dozen sooty rascals were tearing at him. I gave the
cry and sprang down, cutlass in hand, but before I
reached him it was all over."
" And they killed him ? Oh, father of mercies, they
killed him, and you saw it ?"
108 HOME FROM SB A.
"I have told you all."
The child had been growing pale as she listened, not
that she quite understood, but because of the deadly
whiteness which settled on her mother's face, and the
hoarse voice of the man who was speaking. Mrs. Ma-
son sat still. The shock of this wild story left her
dumb. Thrasher cast anxious glances on her face, but
if the child looked at him his eyes fell. At last, the
woman found the power of speech :
" He sent no word — he died without thinking of
us!"
" I cannot tell what his thoughts were, or any thing
except that we found him fighting, and saw him fall."
" And who else saw him ?"
" No one. My men went into another section of the
cellar. The wine was good, and they were in no hurry
to follow me."
" But some one saw him after — you did not leave the
dead body of my husband to be trampled on by a band
of negroes ?"
"We could not help it — the blacks were ten to one."
" But did no one see him but yourself?" Did no one
try to help him ?"
"Yes, one man."
"And who was he ?"
"A fellow by the name of Rice."
" What ! Katharine Allen's half brother?"
Thrasher turned paler than he had done before that
evening. " Her brother — I did not know that," he mut-
tered, uneasily.
Mrs. Mason did not heed this ; the conviction of her
great loss grew more and more distinct to her mind ; all
the desolation that must follow the cruel news of that
HOME FROM SEA. 109
evening crowded upon her. She folded the little girl
close to her heart, and began to weep over her in bitter
grief.
"Are you sure that Rice is connected with Katharine
Allen ?" asked Thrasher, taking advantage of a pause in
her sobs.
" Old Mrs. Allen was married twice," she answered,
impatiently, for grief made her restive. " He was her
only son by the first husband. Tell me where he is ; I
want to see him. I want to know every word and look
of my poor, poor husband. Where can Rice be found?"
" I don't know ; he kept with the ship. I came di-
rectly home, fearing to let any less friendly person tell
you the sad news."
" You were very kind," sobbed the poor woman, "very
kind ; I shall never forget it."
" I always wished to be kind to you, Ellen," was the
almost tender reply.
" I know it, I know it ; but he always stood between
me and any other man."
Thrasher arose, and would have approached Mrs. Ma-
son ; but Rose clung to her neck with one arm and waved
him away with the other.
" She is my mother — you shan't touch my mother !"
she cried, flashing angry glances at him through her
tears. Thrasher looked upon the child with mingled
hate and fear. It was wonderful how much power those
deep blue eyes, sparkling with a thousand childish emo-
tions, possessed over the strong man. There was some-
thing spirituelle in her loveliness that impressed him, as
if an angel had been reading the record of his life, and
rebuked him with those violet eyes.
Thrasher arose hesitating, and almost timidly; he
110 HOME FROM SEA.
stood expecting Mrs. Mason to notice the movement ;
but she was occupied with her grief, and did not observe
him.
" Mother," said little Rose, smiling through her tears,
" look up, mother ; the man who makes you cry is going
away."
Mrs. Mason wiped her eyes, and strove to appear
interested.
" Hush, Rose, hush, he has been very kind to come
with this sorrowful news."
" Yes, mother, he's going right off, so don't cry any
more."
Mrs. Mason reached forth her hand ; she was a tall,
fine woman, with bright eyes, that tears only softened ;
these eyes full of touching sorrow were lifted to his.
All that was good in the man's nature arose in response
to this look. His hand trembled as it grasped hers.
He could have fallen on his knees and wept over it, so
great was the power of love in a nature that had little
else to soften it. But the eyes of the child followed his
movements vigilantly, and he dropped the mother's hand
with a deeply drawn breath.
" Give the gentleman a kiss, my little Rose," whis-
pered the mother, touched by his humble demeanor.
Rose turned her face squarely upon him and lifted
her eyes. He met their clear glance and dared not kiss
her.
" Good-by," he said, standing before them uneasily.
" Good-by," answered Rose, eagerly.
" When you are better — when you are a little recon-
ciled, Ellen, may I come again ?"
" No, no," shouted Rose, waving her hand, " no, no,
no " <*
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING. Ill
" Be still, Rose, this is naughty. Remember he was
your father's friend."
Rose hid her face and b^gan to cry. Thrasher took
the mother's hand again, dropped it, and went away,
softened and almost remorseful.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING.
A FOOTPATH intersected the highway some few rods
below Mrs. Mason's cottage, and ran off among the
hills that lay behind Castle Rock. At this point,
Thrasher paused. He had only reached town that day,
and his first visit had been to the white cottage. Now,
he thought of his parents, who lived on a farm among
those hills, and of another person whose home he must
pass in going there.
" I must see her, of course," he said, mentally ; " but not
at once. I have no heart for another scene. But the
old folks — that will be all joy — no rebukes or entreaties
ever came from that quarter. They will be hurt, too, if
I sleep at a tavern, and the homestead so near."
With these affectionate thoughts urging him forward,
he turned up the foot path and walked slowly on, won-
dering at the tender feelings that rose and swelled in his
heart as he drew near the family home.
You would not have believed that the man who walked
so quietly along the greensward with the moonlight on
his face, could have been the same person who stood on
112 THE WAY-SIDE MEETING.
the deck of that brig and superintended the number of
lashes that should be dealt on the back of a human being.
Once or twice, as his glance fell on some familiar object, a
sweet brier bush, perhaps, or a cluster of tall mulleins that
had grown by the footpath since he was a child, his eyes
would fill with tears. There was something holy and
homelike in the stillness that made a child of this cruel
man.
The footpath led Thrasher into the Bungy road. He
had mounted one hill and was descending into the valley
which lay between it and another, when he saw some
dark object sitting on a pine stump, from which he had
gathered moss years before. His step was smothered
on the sward, and the night wind, which made a rustling
sound among the leaves of a neighboring wood, rendered
his approach inaudible.
It was a woman shrouded in a cloak, but the light was
so clear that he could see the outlines of her person,
though her face was bent down and hoik limbs were
drawn together as if she suffered from cold or sorrow.
Thrasher's heart told him at once who the woman was,
and the knowledge made a coward of him. He hesitated,
turned to go back, but resumed his course again,
ashamed of so much weakness. The woman's face was
bent down, her hands were locked around her knees,
and he could hear the swell of her sobs as she rocked to
and fro, as if the motion gave relief to some great pain.
Thrasher stood close by the unhappy creature, but
she was lost in grief and did not look up.
"Katharine!"
She started to her feet with a cry that haunted his
memory years after, and stood before him, shaking in all
her limbs. Why did she not fling her arms about his
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING. 113
neck as she had done at parting ? Why did she shrink
and gather the cloak so timidly around her ? Did the
shadow of some great wrong fall upon her with its
sundering power?"
" Katharine, you know me, but don't seem glad that
I have come."
" Not glad — oh, my heart is dumb with joy ! I thought
. — I feared that you were dead, Nelson, and the idea
was driving me crazy. I was trying to pray when you
came up."
She stole timidly toward him and held out her hand.
''Is it real — are you alive and here ? Oh how good
you are, coming to our house the first moment to see
me, for I know well enough you did want to see me —
while I was doubting if you would care about me after
being away so long, and wondering what I should do.
You are not changed, Nelson ; you love me yet as well
• — better than ever."
There was something in the girl's manner that Thrasher
did not understand. She seemed frightened, and shrunk
from approaching him. This was so unlike the childlike
affection with which she had hitherto met him, that he
stood looking upon her in surprise, mingled with a little
irritation.
''Why, Katharine, what is the matter? You are so
changed — it may be the moonlight, but your face seems
thinner and less rosy.'
She turned her eyes upon him with a wan smile, but
did not answer at once.
"You have changed, perhaps, and found some one
you like better."
There was something in his tones that stung her ; a
hopeful questioning as if he wished rather than dreaded
t
11-i THE WAY-SIDE MEETING.
this change. She looked at him reproachfully, and her
blue eyes floated in tears.
" Oh, Nelson !"
The words were uttered in a very low voice, but in
their quietness lay deep pathos. She moved close to
his side and laid one hand on his shoulder, waiting: for
7 O
him to return the caress. He placed his arm lightly, and
it seemed half reluctantly, about her waist. She felt the
chill at her heart.
" You are changed 1" she said, in a loud, clear voice,
that sounded to his ear like a challenge. " You come
here not to meet, but to abandon me."
Thrasher tightened his arm around her.
" Is this the way I abandon you ?" he said.
She withdrew herself quietly from his arms, and fix-
ing her eyes on his face gave him a long, sorrowful look.
The moonlight lay full on his features. His dark e}Tes
looked into hers ; a smile, half mocking, half pleasant,
hung on his lip. He was a tall, handsome man, and the
moonlight refined his face into remarkable beauty.
" Are you trying me, Nelson ?" she said, half return-
ing the smile. " Don't — don't — I have trouble enough
without that."
" Trouble — was there ever a girl of your age without
it, I wonder ? Come, take my arm, and as we walk
along you shall tell me what great misfortune sent you
here crying and rocking yourself like an old woman
turned out of doors."
Katharine tried to laugh and took his arm, leaning on
it with that half caressing, half dependent grace which a
woman who loves from her soul assumes unconsciously.
Formerly, when her arm touched his, he had, at a
time like this, taken the willing hands in his clasp, but
THE WAY-SIDE MEETING. 115
the touch of Ellen Mason's fingers thrilled his nerves
even yet, and Katharine's hand drooped helplessly over
his arm.
" Now tell me what this great, great trouble is ?" he
said, walking forward.
" Wait until we get into the shadow of the woods,
and I will," she replied, in a low, choked voice.
They walked on in dead silence, entered the shadow
of the wood, paused in the darkest spot, and talked
earnestly together. When they came in the moonlight
again, Thrasher looked pale and angry. He walked
fast, sometimes forcing her on beyond her strength, and
cutting up the silk weed and nmlleins in his path with
fierce dashes of his walking-stick. Katharine made no
resistance, for a cold, dead silence, which shut out all
joy, had fallen on her.
They came to a little brown house, under the shelter
of a hill, and half covered with morning-glories — a
pretty, rustic place in which Katharine lived alone with
her mother. A board fence ran along the front yard,
hedging in some lilac bushes and a huge snowball
bush. A flower bed ran along each side of the walk,
from the gate to the door. All this looked pretty and
cool, in its night dew, and Thrasher recognized the fa-
miliar objects with something like a pang.
Katharine withdrew her arm from his at the gate ; she
tried to speak, and ask him to go in, for a light shone
through one of the windows, and the old lady was evi-
dently waiting for Katharine to come home before she
went to bed ; her lips trembled, but refused to utter the
invitation ; he read it in her eyes, however, and shook
his head.
" Not to-night — another time we will talk this over."
116 THE OLD HOME.
They parted with these words, and Thrasher walked
on at a more rapid pace than he had yet used. Katha-
rine watched him mournfully as he disappeared, then,
with a deep sigh, she entered the house.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE OLD HOME AND THE OLD PEOPLE.
A LITTLE way over the hill from Mrs. Allen's dwelling,
stood a low, red farm house which covered a good deal
of ground, and possessed many pleasant surroundings,
such as marked the more thrifty class of farmers in
those days. Rows of stiff, Lombardy poplars stood in
lines before the house, looking more like mammoth um-
brellas, verdant in color, and shut up for the season,
than any thing else. Tall, cinnamon roses clambered
up the front, while a whole forest of lilac and snowball
bushes cast their shadows on the rich sward of the door
yard. At the back was a fine apple orchard which filled
the air all around with the delicate perfume of its blos-
soms in the spring-time, and gave out a rich, fruity
odor in the autumn. A well sweep pencilled its slender
shadow along the plantain leaves that grew rank at the
back door, and beyond that, the distant outlines of a
cider-mill could be imperfectly seen through the orchard
boughs.
Every thing seemed natural to the stern man, as he
drew near the homestead. He could not remember a
time when the old place did not look thrifty and com-
THE OLD HOME. 117
fortable, as it appeared then. A few dry branches
bristled here and there among the poplars, speaking of
progressive age, like gray hairs in the head of a strong
man, but they were scarcely perceptible in the moon-
light, and Thrasher could see no change since the years
of his boyhood.
The family sitting room was back of the house, and
through the windows a gleam of light shot along the
grass. Thrasher passed through the yard, and, pausing
beneath the window, looked in. The paper blind was
partly rolled up, and he thus commanded a view of the
entire room.
Two old people sat together on the hearth, where a
few embers lay smouldering. A round, cherry wood
stand stood between them, from which towered a mas-
sive brass candlestick, supporting the only light that
burned in the room.
The old lady was knitting. What a sweet, benign ex-
pression slept on her face ! How softly the white hair
was folded under her cap 1 The pure, healthy bloom
on her cheek was something wonderful. It made you in
love with the beauty of old age.
The old man was reading aloud ; the great family
bible lay open before him, and his deep, reverential voice
could be distinctly heard through the imperfectly closed
window. As Thrasher looked, the old man removed the
spectacles from his eyes, and laid them on the page he
had been reading, while he listened smilingly to some
observation that his wife had made, but which, with her
lower and softer tones, Thrasher had lost.
" How many times have we read this chapter together,
Eunice — so many that neither you nor I can remember
them ; but every reading brings out something new —
118 THE OLD HOME.
something more holy than we ever found before. Isn't
that your experience ?"
"Yes," answered the old lady, taking a seauistitch
with serene precision as she spoke. " It seems to me,
husband, that one never learns really what is in the
Bible till old age comes on. When we were young, I
can remember being so tired when the morning chapter
was read, and full of other thoughts, that I am sorry to
remember now. That is the reason I always had so
much charity for our Nelson. Poor child, he never
could sit still through a whole chapter — boy or man !"
"I'm afraid," answered the old man, with a heavy
sigh. "I'm a 'most afraid, Eunice, that we neglected to
perform our whole duty to the boy at the start. He was
such a bright child, that we wandered off into ambition
and worldly pride where he was concerned. Now, that
we are getting old, and a'most as good as childless, this
idea troubles me more than a little. Maybe, if you and
I had been a little more strict with the boy, he'd have
got over them roving notions, and stayed at home."
"I don't know," said the old lady, putting on her
glasses to loop up a stitch, while a shade of trouble came
to her face. " It seems to me as if nothing would ever
have kept Nelson on the farm. He was too high strung
for that. But what then? Every body isn't of the
same idea, you know ; and if the education we gave our
son helped to unsettle him for our way of life, it fitted
him for another. Remember, he went out first mate this
time."
" He's a brave boy, any way," said the old man, kin-
dling with the subject ; " and if the season of grace has
not reached his soul yet, we must only pray the more
earnestly."
THE OLD HOME. 119
" Yes," whispered the mother. " Pray without ceas-
ing, and in every thing give thanks !"
" If we did not kneel to the throne of grace in his be-
half so often as we might have done in our younger
days, we must make up for it now, for our son will some
day make a shining light in the house of the righteous,"
continued the father. " I feel it. I know it, Eunice."
The old lady sighed.
"I'm afraid that even now I pray that he may come
back to his home, before I think of his eternal salvation,
for that wish is always uppermost with me."
The old man smiled reprovingly, and shook his head.
"Ah, Eunice !"
" I can't help it," sighed the mother, confessing her
weakness, with a deprecating smile. " He is my only
child — all the precious, earthly blessing we have. I
can't help being proud and fond of him."
" How could you, when I, a strong man — one that the
brethren sometimes look up to, as all the church mem-
bers will admit — can't keep back the pride of having a
sou like that. There's no denying it. Nelson is a young
man that must put a temptation of pride into his pa-
rents' path. It seems to me as if I were a stronger man
and you a handsomer woman for having a son like him."
" So honorable, so handsome, "murmured the old lady.
" So strong and energetic," responded the father.
"Ah, if he would but come onee more to see his old
father and mother."
The old lady bent over her knitting, and pretended to
search for a false stitch, but it was only to conceal the
tears that swelled tenderly into her eyes.
Thrasher could bear no more. The man loved his pa-
rents, and those soft tears in his mother's eyes brought
120 THE OLD HOME.
moisture to his own. How innocent and childlike the
old people were, in comparison with him. Satan, when
looking over the flow'ry walls of Paradise, must have
felt as he did, listening to that household conversation.
The old man took up his glasses again, and began to
read. The mother kept on with her work, listening, with
meek faith, to the holy words that fell from her hus-
band's lips. All at once she started, dropped the knit-
ting in her lap, and listened.
" It is his step !"
The old man raised his face from the Bible, and lis-
tened, also.
" Yes, Eunice, it is 1"
The door opened, and their son stood on the threshold
— a strong, handsome fellow, such as the father had de-
scribed him. There was no outcry of joy, no wordy
demonstrations ; but a tender gladness possessed the
old people. The mother kissed him, almost timidly.
There was something that awed her tenderness in this
powerful young man, though he did tremble in her
gentle embrace.
" My son, you are welcome home — oh, my son !"
There was something hearty and patriarchal in this
welcome of the father. The noble old Christian that
forgave his prodigal son must have spoken much after
the same fashion.
They shook hands — the father and son — with a firm,
lingering clasp, while the mother looked on, smiling
through her tears. With your genuine J^ew England
housemother, hospitality is always the servitor of affec-
tion. The night dew lay heavily on her son's garments.
He looked pale and tired. The mother's heart rose piti-
fully in her bosom ; she insisted upon raking open the
THE OLD HOME. 121
fire, and getting a warm cup of tea ; even went so far as
to offer a cider-brandy sling, with toasted crackers float-
ing on the top.
Thrasher yielded himself to her tender care. It was
wonderful how submissive and grateful that strong-
willed man had become under womanly influences. He
declined tea, but accepted the glass of smoking drink
which the mother prepared. Soon the old man took a
tumbler, also, and praised it greatly ; for religious men
and elders of the church, in those times, thought it no
sin to make themselves comfortable with a glass of hot
drink before bedtime, never dreaming that their limited
indulgence might lead to excess in the coming genera-
tion— excess which even legal enactments have failed to
remedy. Having no fear and no conscientious scruples
on the subject, the old man enjoyed his glass, and filled
that of his son more than once ; for, somehow, the color
would not come genially to the young man's face, and
after the first glow of his reception had passed off, he
seemed depressed, almost gloomy.
The old lady took her seat again on the patchwork
cushion of blue and red cloth which Thrasher could re-
member from his childhood, and attempted to resume
her knitting ; but the plump little hands trembled so
much that she gave it up, and drawing back into the
shadow, had a sweet, motherly cry all to herself. It was
pleasant to hear those two voices blending together in
their talk. It was heaven to know that the whole family
sat on one hearth again. She could not be thankful
enough. What had she done to merit so much happi-
ness at the hands of the Lord.
This pious tinder-current of feelings mingled with the
conversation as it went on between the two men, leaping
122 THE OLD HOME.
rapidly from subject to subject, as always happens when
members of one family have been long separated. While
the mother was wrapped in dreamy thanksgivings, the
old man, not less grateful or affectionate, fell to ques-
tioning his son about his voyage, the fate of the ship,
and the terrible scenes which had been enacted at St.
Domingo, while she lay in the harbor of Port au Prince.
Thrasher went into the thrilling details. He was
naturally eloquent, and the intense interest manifested
by his parents, made his pictures as graphic as the re-
ality ; but another person might have remarked, though
his parents did not, that he avoided mentioning either
his own share or that of Captain Mason in these exciting
events.
" But how long did this last, Nelson ? Was the brig
kept in harbor all the time ? Some of the neighbors
began to fear that she was lost ; but your mother and I
hoped and prayed, didn't we, mother ?"
The mother smiled on her son, answering :
" Nelson always knows that we hope and pray when
he is upon the great deep."
" But where is the brig now ; at her port ?" questioned
the father, after a brief pause.
" No, we were compelled to abandon her ; one of the
most terrible storms I ever faced on sea or land, took
us unprepared. It swept us clean from stem to stern.
Another hour and we should have gone down like a
handful of drift wood — for days and days we floated on
the ocean, no sails, our masts gone, nothing to rig new
ones with. The men were discouraged, some of them
threatening mutiny ; for a negro and a little boy that
came on board at Port au Prince, the only creatures that
I know of who escaped the massacre, were missing just
9
THE OLD HOME. 123
after the storm, and the fellows would believe that I had
something to do with it, so they sulked and threatened
until I began to fear for my life. Nothing but our own
great peril prevented them rising.
" At last, the brig sprang a leak, and what with work-
ing at the pumps night and day? hard commons and no
drink — for I staved the casks in — they had plenty to do
without turning on me. It was enough to put down any
rebellion to hear the water rushing and gurgling into
the hold, faster, a great deal, than all hands could pump
it out. SOj while working for their own lives, they for-
got to take mine."
" Thank God for this great deliverance," said the old
man, solemnly.
The son paused an instant, and then went on.
" The water gained on us ; we worked desperately,
but the brig sunk lower, and lower, till we had scarcely
a hope left."
" Then," whispered the mother " you thought of us, my
son."
" Of his God," said the old man, devoutly ; " he prayed
to God and so found safety."
Thrasher was no hypocrite ; he remembered how dif-
ferent the scene had proved to any thing his parents
imagined, and felt rebuked by their simplicity.
" Yes, mother, I did think of you both with an ach-
ing heart. As for prayers, we sailors have little time
for them. But I was telling you of our condition ; it
was forlorn enough. The men gave out and refused to
work. Persuasions went for nothing — threats were of
no use. They were tired out and wanted to die. You
have no idea, father, how reckless such men are."
" No, sou ; I couldn't imagine it."
124: THE OLD HOME.
"At last, when all was given up, and we had nothing
to do but die, a sail hove in sight."
" Thanks be to God 1" ejaculated the old man, lifting
his clasped hands, while tears stole softly down the
mother's cheek.
" ' Sail 0 !' That was1 a shout which filled us with new
life. We tore off our jackets, we searched for fragments
of the old sails, our voices rose in wild, hoarse shouts,
that sounded awfully along the waters. At first, she did
not see us, but seemed steering another way. Our de-
spair broke forth in one mighty shriek I It reached
them — we could see a commotion on the deck. Breath-
less with expectation, grouped together like so many
ghosts, we watched her slacken sail, and bear down upon
us. Then the strongest man among us burst into tears 1
That moment I shall never, never forget !"
"Not while there is a merciful God to thank!" said
the father, shaking the tears from his cheek as a lion
flings dew-drops from his mane. Low sobs broke from
the darkened portion of the room. During her son's
narration the good mother had sunk unconsciously to
her knees, and lay prostrate before her God, trembling
with thankfulness.
Thrasher went on :
" We took to the friendly vessel, all but three persons.
They would not leave the wreck. No persuasion could
move them. It was a terrible thing, but the ship sailed
away, leaving them to their fate !"
" And who were these men, my boy ?"
"Rice, old Mr. Allen's son."
" God help the poor woman."
" With the negro and boy I told you of. They had
taken the boat and put out to sea alone — after drifting
BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD. 125
fire or six days hither and yon, they were taken up by
the vessel that afterward saved us. They saw the wreck
and came to her in the first boat. When Rice refused
to abandon the brig they sat down by his side, and so
we were compelled to leave them."
"And is this all ? — did yon never hear of them again ?"
inquired the mother, rising to her feet.
"No; we never heard of them after that. They
di-ifted off with the wreck, and what became of them no
one can tell. "
" This will be sorrowful news for our neighbor. Hus-
band, I wish some other person than our son had
brought it."
Thrasher arose hastily.
" Good night, mother. Shall I sleep in the old room ?"
His voice shook, and he seemed greatly disturbed.
" Yes, yes, my son. You are tired out. Go up to
your old room."
CHAHTER XV.
BREAKFAST IN THE OLD HOMESTEAD.
NELSON THRASHER could not sleep under his father's
roof. The neat, high posted bed, with its blue and white
coverlet that he had slept under in boyhood, was so
familiar that it seemed to reproach him in its homeliness
for the great change that had fallen on himself. The
little looking-glass over the cherry-wood dressing stand,
flashed upon him like a human eye angry and fierce at
the intrusion of a guilty man where an innocent boy had
126 BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD.
slept. As his foot touched the rag carpet, worn smooth
by his light tread, years ago, the breath paused on his
lips, and the stern face softened into sadness so deep,
that his worst enemy might have pitied him.
That instant the old man's voice rose solemnly through
the stillness of the night. From the depths of his heart,
he was thanking God that his son had returned. Every
word of that prayer rose to the son, rebuking him to the
soul. He fell upon his knees, unconsciously occupying
the very spot on which his first prayer had been learned
from his mother's lips. Bitter repentance swept over
him for the minute, and covering his face with both
hands, he cried like a child.
But such feelings could not hold that stern nature
long. When the old man ceased, Thrasher shook the
tears from his eyes, and stood up, turning his face away
from the glass, hating that it should reflect the workings
of which he was even then ashamed. It was useless ;
the familiar things around him were full of associations
that would make themselves felt. He put out the can-
dle, and got into bed, his eyes filling in the darkness as
he lifted the coverlet.
Still he could not sleep. The dear old objects were
all shut out, but the home feeling was too strong. For
that one hour he was almost a good man.
As he lay in the darkness, a soft tread came on the
Btairs, and the door of his room swung open. He knew
all about it. The footsteps were his mother's. How
often he had heard them, in childhood, coming up, be-
cause the kind woman fancied that he might be afraid,
or ill, or that the coverlet had slipped from over him.
Just as of old, she glided through the door and close to
the bed. He feigned sleep, that she might not guess
BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD. 127
how much he had been acting like a child. She stood
beside him, full of motherly tenderness, yearning for a
few last words before she went to rest ; but with gentle
self-command, waiting for some sign that he was awake.
When she found that his eyes were closed and his breath
came evenly, she bent down and kissed him on the fore-
head more than once, whispering his name to herself, as
she had done a thousand times over his cradle.
Still he did not move ; the kiss stole like an angel's
whisper through his heart. For the moment, it sancti-
fied him, even in his own eyes. This did not appear to
awake him, and the mother could attempt no more.
Still she lingered, settled his pillow, delicatety as a bird
smoothes the plumage of its young, and tucked up the
bed, blessing him the while. It was not chilly, but the
action put her in mind of old times, and she loved it.
At last that gentle mother glided out of the room,
and he drew a deep breath, longing to call her back,
confess how far he had gone astray, and become as a
little child again.
The night wore on, and he had not slept a moment.
Many thoughts came crowding over the holy ones that
possessed him, and finally overpowered them. He
thought of Mrs. Mason — his first, his only love — for this
truth he confessed to himself over and over again, in
the stillness of that night, when the difficulties of his
position crowded close upon him. He thought of Kath-
arine Allen, not with solicitude, such as the poor crea-
ture's fate should have inspired, but bitterly, harshly,
for she was a stumbling-block in his way, an object al-
most of dislike. Though a cruel man, Thrasher was not
recklessly so to women — thoughts of his mother always
kept him from that. Still, he almost cursed Katharine
128 BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD.
in the struggles of that night, for she stood between him
and the great desire of his life — John Mason's widow.
But for her, he could make a brief wooing, settle down
by his old parents, and without temptations to evil
courses, become a man of power, for he possessed that
which enabled him to accomplish almost every thing, an
unlimited control of wealth. But with this young crea-
ture in the way, what could he do but plunge into
schemes that brought sin and peril with them, such as
he shrunk from encountering. Abandon his father and
mother — go off to some unknown country with the wo-
man of his love — cast off all duties — leave that beautiful
girl to die of grief — could he do that ?
Thus the good angels and the evil spirits struggled
over that man all night long. In the morning, neither
had the mastery. On ship-board, the guardian angel
would have been driven forth at once ; but under his
father's roof, there was something of heaven which
would not let the seraph go.
After daylight the young man fell asleep, weary with
thoughts that still left their shadows on his forehead.
The mother came up twice to call him, but seeing the
weariness in his handsome face, went away, holding her
breath, and walking on tiptoe.
At last he came down-stairs, and found the old people,
with the table spread and the breakfast dishes standing
on the hearth, patiently waiting till he should join them.
It was of no use struggling. Over a breakfast table
like that the good angels held control ; nothing worse
could hover near those blessed old people upon their
own hearth-stone. There every thing spoke of the old
time — the round table, covered with bird's-eye linen,
homemade, glossy as a snow crust, and as white. The
I
BREAKFAST IX THE HOMESTEAD. 129
same sprigged china and quaint teaspoons. The silver
teapot — old-fashioned even then — had been brought out
for the first time in years, and stood emitting dainty
puffs of steam between the andirons. The old lady
looked at her son and at the teapot witTi conscious
smiles, which said plainly as smiles could speak, " You
see that I keep nothing back when my son comes home,
not even that 1"
Thrasher smiled as he gathered in this picture. It
was the smile of a stern character, and changed his
whole face. Rare must be the smile which makes a hu-
man heart leap. You never heed perpetual sunshine,
but that which flashes through clouds makes itself felt
and remembered.
" How much he looks like his father now," thought the
mother, while the old man held out his hand, and
grasped that of his son with a hearty " good-morning."
" Son," said the old lady, as she took up the teapot,
with a little flutter, like that of a bird pluming itself,
" now that we are all together — the whole family, you
know — supposing we sit down at once. Your father
usually goes to prayers before breakfast, Nelson, but
we'll just put it off till afterward — don't you think so,
husband ?"
A strong sense of duty alone kept the old man from
saying yes, at once ; but he wasn't to be led into temp-
tation by the fond designs of that precious little wo-
man, not he ; nor by the fear that his son would rather
not. Morning prayers didn't happen to be duties so
lightly disposed of, in his estimation. He motioned the
old lady to leave the breakfast where it was, on the
hearth, and taking the great Bible from its stand, began
to read with solemn deliberation.
8
BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD.
Thrasher liked this ; had his father varied in any
thing from the steady goodness of his character, it
would have been a sad disappointment to the son ; for
such persons are generally the most keen-sighted in de-
tecting the 'weakness of good men. Besides, there is
something holy in the religious associations of an early
home, which no man or woman can see disturbed with-
out pain.
I am afraid that the old man, in compunction for a
momentary impulse to yield, made his pra}7er a little
longer than usual, and dwelt elaborately on that point
which asked deliverance from temptation. Certain it
is, that according to the habit of the times, he spoke of
himself as a hardened sinner, and confessed to short-
comings and taints of original depravity that must have
made the recording angel — who had set down nothing
but good deeds to his account for many a long year —
smile in benign patience.
Once, as the good Christian gave signs of prolonging
his devotions, the old lady turned softly on her knees
and pushed the dish, which contained a choice delicacy
for her son, close to the fire ; but she blushed in the act,
and covering her face the instant it was accomplished,
whispered " amen" at the end of a sonorous sentence in
which her husband acknowledged the native depravity
of every soul within the created world.
Still Nelson Thrasher was not impatient. Every word
of the old man's voice thrilled him through and through.
It would have taken something more than that to up-
heave the stern selfishness of his character to any pur-
pose ; but manj7' a good feeling rose to the surface which,
for the time, made him a better man.
They sat down to breakfast at last, and a right hearty
BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD. 131
New England breakfast it was. The old man talked
pleasantly on eArery subject that came up. He possessed
a clear, energetic mind, and had read a great deal more
than was common to his class. His intelligence was
active to seize on any food that presented itself, and his
son's adventures by sea and land, were as exciting as a
romance ; not that old Mr. Thrasher knew what a ro-
mance was, or would have allowed one to enter his door
if he had. Indeed, the Pilgrim's Progress had disturbed
his rnind a good deal from the fact that it was not an
actual, instead of an ideal truth. As a great many con-
scientious people condemn the theatre, but fill the boxes
of an opera, every night, this old-fashioned Christian
listened to his son's spoken romances with infinite zest.
They appealed keenly to his imagination, which found
little aliment in any book he read, except when it seized
upon the grandest of all poetry — that of the Bible.
So the father asked questions, the son answered
them pleasantly, and that dear old lady sat smiling upon
them both from behind her silver teapot ; convinced
from the depths of her heart that she was the happiest
and most good-for-nothing old mother that ever di-ew
the breath of life, and ought to be ashamed of herself
for not deserving all this joy more thoroughly.
After breakfast, Thrasher took his hat, and prepared
to go out. The old gentleman, in the innocence of his
heart, proposed to accompany him, but Mrs. Thrasher
began to nod and signalize him across the table, and he
sat down rather bewildered.
" Don't you see," said the old lady, with a sweet, know-
ing smile, " Nelson is sure to find his way down to Mrs.
Allen's — he must have loved us very much to come by
without stopping last night. I shouldn't wonder if that
girl kept him at home ?"
132 BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD.
" You don't say so !" exclaimed the father, in blank
astonishment; "well, I never thought of that."
" Why, don't you remember how often he used to go
there the time he came home before this, and how he
went to York State to see her when she was out there
with her uncle that winter, going to school."
" Well, wife, I shouldn't wonder if there was some-
thing in it," said the old man, going to the window and
looking after his son.
The mother emitted a low, mellow laugh ; she was
rather proud of her quicker penetration, and patronized
the old gentleman accordingly.
" Why of course there's something in it," she said,
nestling herself up to his side, and putting a lock of
gray hair back from his temples with her finger. He'll
hang round her a little while — go down the hill two or
three times a day likely, while we don't seem to know
any thing about it — and then think he's surprising
us, when he says that he's going to marry Katharine
Allen, if we've no objections. Of course we shan't have
any — for she's a nice girl and handsome as a picture.
Then there'll be a wedding down yonder. You'll buy
the wine, and I'll find the cake. Mrs. Allen has got lots
of homespun, and Nelson won't want much for a setting
out, for this house isn't badly off for furniture, and I've
been thinking of a new cherry-tree chest of drawers
some time."
The old man laughed pleasantly.
" My wife, you've got them married and to house-
keeping before he's crossed the top of the hill."
" But wouldn't it be nice ? She's a smart girl, and
might take a great deal of care off me. As for Nelson,
if he once took to farming what a hand he would make
at it !"
BREAKFAST IN THE HOMESTEAD. 133
"And you believe all this ?"
" Why shouldn't I ? there's nothing unnatural about
it, nor wrong either — besides I am sure Katharine likes
him."
"Well, wife, any thing that keeps the boy at home
will satisfy me. Marriage is an institution of the Lord,
and no good man should say a word against it."
" Of course not, for that would be to slander our
own youth. See, there is Nelson now, looking down
toward Mrs. Allen's house. That's him under the
but'nut tree. He's just stepped on the rock — you re-
member it. I wonder what he's flirting out his silk
handkerchief for ?"
" It's to scare off the crows, I reckon," answered the
father, watching the movements of his son with some
curiosity, "they're greater pests than ever, this year."
" No," said the old lady, " it's more than that. See,
something moves on the other side of the stone wall.
It's a woman — she's climbing over. Why don't he help
her, I wonder ? Yes, just as I thought, it is Katharine
Allen. What do you say to that ?"
" Well," answered the old man, flushing around the
temples. " I say it isn't likely the young folks think
that we are spying after them. If they want to have a
talk by themselves, I'm sure we've no objections. You
and I have been but 'nutting together in our lives, haven't
we ?"
I am not sure that the old man did not kiss the face
that was lifted smilingly to his. There was no one by,
and he was so very happy all the morning — who could
wonder at it ? The old lady, at any rate, made no ado
about the matter, but nestled a little closer to his side,
and asked "if he saw Nelson and Katharine yet?"
134 BREAKFAST IX THE HOMESTEAD.
" They are sitting on the rock together, wife, talking,
no doubt ; but we must not be watching them. Young
folks don't like that, 3rou know."
"Well, only just say that you think there's something
in it, and I won't turn my eyes that way again ; though
it's a trial for a mother not to look on her son any-
where, after he has been away from home so long."
The father himself seemed to feel that it was a hard-
ship, for, after walking across the room once or twice,
he came back to the window where his wife still remained.
" See, husband, how Katharine jumps up and seems to
be wringing her hands. What can ail her ?"
" Maybe Nelson is telling her about leaving her half-
brother on the wreck ; that is enough to make the poor
girl wring her hands — as for Mrs. Allen, nothing but the
grace of God can carry her through this trouble. She
hasn't seen her son for years, and was just expecting him
home."
" Supposing I go right down and comfort her," whis-
pered the good woman, her heart full of tender pity.
" Or would she rather be left alone, I wonder?"
" Wait till the first grief goes off; after that, company
may do her good."
"Poor girl, how she takes on, while Nelson sits there
as if nothing was the matter. No, no, I am wrong ; he's
taken hold of her hands. He's talking to her — how kind
of him. See, Katharine is quieter already. She sits
down again ; I know well enough, if any thing on earth
could pacify her, he could. The dear boy !"
A PAINFUL INTERVIEW. 135
CHAPTER XVI.
A PAINFUL INTERVIEW.
TRULY, Catharine Allen had sprung to her feet, and
was wringing her hands in wild, bitter grief, at the news
of her half-brother's death, for such she considered the
account Thrasher gave her. True, she had never seen
Rice since she was \ little girl, and he was scarcely
known in the neighborhood, as Mrs. Allen had moved
to her present home with her second husband, and her
son had gone to sea long before that. In her second
widowhood, he had sometimes sent her money and warm-
hearted letters, written in a great, cramped hand, which
no one but a mother could have read. In her retired
life, Mrs. Allen, who was a middle-aged woman when
Katharine was born, had looked forward to news from
her son as the great event of her life. With only her
house, a few acres of land, and her pretty daughter's
labor to depend on for a livelihood, the twenty and thirty
dollars which came to her from this son, at the end of
each voyage, was a great help. Without it, the widow
and her beautiful daughter must have come to want,
especially when sickness was in the house.
Now he was- dead — the brave, generous man, whom
Katharine had been taught to love like a father ; and
even while Thrasher told his own story, and her loving
heart was almost given up to fond credulity, she was
not quite satisfied that Rice might not have been saved.
To leave him on the wreck even at his own request,
seemed to her a terrible cruelty.
V
136 A PAINFUL INTERVIEW.
" He was my brother," she said ; " the only support
we had. He was so generous — so good to us both I Oh,
Nelson, you should have saved him !"
" How did I know he was your brother, Katharine ?
He never told me a word about it ; and if I ever heard
the name, it had escaped me."
" But he was a human being ; a mother waited for
him, somewhere. You should have remembered that."
" It is useless talking in this way, Katharine," replied
Thrasher, striving to pacify her grief. " I could only
have saved him by violence. He would not come with
us, but stuck to the wreck, under some wild idea that
she might yet be taken into port. I could have died
with him, but nothing beyond that was possible."
" Oh, my mother I my poor mother ! must I tell her
this?" moaned Katharine.
" Perhaps it would have pleased you better had I
gone down with him ?"
" You ! — you ! Oh, that would have completed our
desolation ! The news would have killed me dead !"
" Then don't attempt to make me out a murderer."
" I haven't— I haven't !"
" Sit down, Katherine. These wild gestures will be
seen from the house, and the old people won't know what
to make of it. Sit down and compose yourself. This
is not the only subject we have to talk about."
" I know it — I know it ; but the thought of carrying
the grief to my mother kills me."
" This is childish — I will submit to it no longer,"
cried Thrasher, beginning to lose patience. " Sit down,
I say, and control yourself!" He took hold of her
hands, grasping them till they burned with pain, and
drew her forcibly to the rock. She looked at him breath-
lessly ; the expression of his face frightened her.
A PAINFUL INTERVIEW. 137
" Now that you can be still," he said, sternly, " I have
a great deal to say about our conversation last night.
Will you try and listen like a rational creature ?"
She was sobbing bitterly, and could only give an as-
sent by a motion of the head.
" Well, regarding the senseless event which you make
so much of "
" Senseless, Nelson 1" She looked up, as the words
left her lips, and gazed at him reproachfully through
her tears.
" Yes, senseless I What else could an act like that be
considered ? I was a man — and should have known
better. What good has it done to be in such desperate
haste ?"
" What good ? — what good ? Did we not love each
other?"
Something like a sneer came to Thrasher's lip. He
longed to tell her the truth. It seemed the surest means
of putting her out of the way.
" You don't speak, Nelson. You look strange when
I say, ' Did we not love each other?'"
"No- wonder, Katharine — why should you ask the
question ? If to make a fool of one's self is a proof of
love, you have it 1"
" To make a fool of one's self?" The poor girl turned
white to the lips as she repeated these insulting words.
" What does this mean, Nelson ?"
" It means that you and I went off, like a couple of
dunces, and got married !"
Katharine stopped crying. Surprise, for a moment,
kept her mute ; but directly there came into her eyes a
proud, almost fierce determination, that Thrasher had
never witnessed before.
138 A PAINFUL INTERVIEW.
" Do you mean this ?" she said at last, in a low, clear
voice, that made him start.
"Mean what?"
" That you are sorry for having married me."
There was something in her face that startled him —
that woman's character had a depth and strength which
he had not dreamed of until then. It was not his habit
to evade or equivocate much, but now he saw the ne-
cessity.
" I haven't said that, and did not mean it, my spar-
row-hawk. How could I?"
" Then, what did you say ? — what did you mean ?"
"Nothing, except that it was a great folly — but a
very pleasant one — when we got married in that private
way. It would have been better to have waited."
" But it was you that urged me."
" To the marriage, but not the secrecy, that was your
own doings entirely, Kate. I wanted you to go at once
and live with the old folks, while I went this voyage, but
you begged and pleaded to stay with your mother, and
what could I do but consent. Of course, as my wife,
you must have lived with my family, so you preferred
secrecy and your mother. It was a foolish arrangement
altogether." *,
" My poor mother was so sad and lonely then, I could
not bear to leave her ; besides, I did not dare tell her
about it while she was in poor health — she would have
taken on dreadfully — for somehow "
" Yes, I know she hated me."
" No, not that ; but mother*has strange prejudices.*"
" I should think she had. I have not forgotten her
forbidding me the house ; but for that "
" What were you saying, Nelson ? your voice is verv
husky."
JEALOUS PANGS. 139
" I was saying that we should not have been led into
the weakness of this concealment if she had been more
reasonable."
" Well, if it was a weakness or a sin I have suffered
for it keenly enough, Nelson. While my mother had
those hard feelings I could not tell her. Oh, Nelson, it
seemed as if I should die when the time for your return
came and we heard nothing of the brig. If you had
been lost, what would have become of me ? No one
would have believed that I had ever been married, no
matter what I had said."
" But you had the certificate ?"
" Yes, but the people here don't understand those
things. They're used to a publishment and all that.
They never would see the difference between Connecti-
cut and York State. Then, if they had sent to my un-
cle he knew nothing about it, you remember, and could
not have helped me. Besides, I didn't even know where
to find the people that stood up with us."
" Why, child, all these fears are nonsense. The cer-
tificate is enough."
" But it's all of no consequence now. You are here
and we can speak out. It isn't like a poor girl being all
alone without knowing any thing of the law."
CHAPTER XVII.
JEALOUS PANGS REGARDING MRS. MASON.
THRASHER sat with his hands clasped over one knee,
looking thoughtfully on the ground as she spoke. Kath-
JEALOUS PANGS.
arine had nestled close to his side, and was looking
wistfully into his face.
" There isn't any trouble now, Nelson. Mother may
be angry for awhile, but it won't be forever."
"I was thinking," said Thrasher, with his eyes reso-
lutely fixed on the ground, " I was thinking that, as it
had gone so far, we had better put off telling about it
till after my next trip."
Katharine turned white, and suddenly shrank away
from him. He did not seem to notice it, but went on in
the same even voice.
" It will not be long — not more than two or three
months at the most."
Katharine held her breath and listened, but sobs were
gathering thick and heavy in her bosom.
" Three months ! — three months ! Oh, Nelson !" and
now the sobs broke forth with painful violence.
" It may be less than that — I will get the shortest
voyage that can be found. But for the shipwreck this
might not have been so necessary ; as it is, one must have
a little money to go to housekeeping with. You wouldn't
have me ask my father for that?"
" No, no. Besides, what would mother do without
me just now — with this dreadful news to bear up
against?" cried Katharine, hushing her sobs.
" I was sure you would see the whole thing in this
sensible way, dear."
Katharine wiped her eyes and made a miserable effort
to smile.
" Yes, I suppose it is best. But what if something
happens to keep you away longer ? — I should die ! I
should die !"
"But nothing can happen. If it should — that is, if I
JEALOUS PANGS. 141
do not come back in three months at the furthest —
take your certificate, go up to my mother, show it to
her, and tell the old folks to take care of you for my
sake ; for after that, you may consider yourself a widow 1"
"A widow?"
" Yes, beyond a doubt ; for if I do not come back in
three months, be sure that nothing but death keeps mel"
" Don't ! don't 1" cried the poor wife, lifting her hands
as if to ward off a blow.
" Well, well ; there's nothing so dreadful about all
this. One would think, by that face, you saw me in the
water now, with a stone at my feet."
Again Katharine held up her hands and shut her eyes.
The picture was too dreadful.
Spite of himself, Thrasher was touched by this evidence
of affection ; he changed his position, and stole his arm
around her waist.
" There, now, we have settled all this terrible business,
and can talk of brighter things," he said, caressingly.
" Have you seen much of the old people since I went
away?"
" I had no heart to go there often ; but sometimes I
saw your father at the gate. He always stopped if I was
there when he rode by ; and when mother was sick, Mrs.
Thrasher always came."
" Dear old lady !" said Thrasher, with emotion. " When
was she ever away when help could be given ? Tinder
all circumstances she will be good to you, wife or widow."
" Don't use that word widow ; it makes me cold."
" Yet it is sometimes a pleasant word," said Thrasher,
forgetting her presence in thoughts of another.
"A pleasant word, Nelson ?"
"Pleasant! — did I say so? How strange that one's
tongue will make such blunders."
14:2 JEALOUS PANGS.
Katharine was thoughtful for a moment. Something
in her husband's manner brought back the feelings she
had experienced at Mrs. Mason's house the night before.
Yague spasms of jealousy, that culminated in a sharp
pang when she remembered that the beautiful woman
who had almost taunted her, was a widow now.
" Nelson," she said, awaking from her grief, for there
was something of indignation mingled with it now,
" last night I was at Mrs. Mason's."
" Indeed ? Have you visited her often ?"
" Only when I went to get news of the ship ; for I don't
much like her."
" Indeed ?"
" No ; she hurts one's feelings without meaning it, I
dare say. Her haughtinessKeeps every one at a distance."
Thrasher turned his face away, to conceal the proud
smile that broke over it. He longed to defend the
haughtiness of which Katharine complained — to say that
it was the birthright of Ellen's great superiority over
all other women. But he checked the impulse and only
answered :
" Perhaps it is so. I have seen very little of her since
she married that — that — I mean since she married
Captain Mason."
" She told me something last night that surprised me."
"What was it?"
" She said that you had loved her before she accepted
Captain Mason, and that she refused you."
"Ah, she told you that ; and did her ladyship tell you
why she took Mason instead of me?"
" Because you was a third or second mate, I forget
which, and he was a captain ; that was the reason she
gave — but you speak as if it were true."
JEALOUS PANGS. 143
" Well, when I say that I had never been to sea in my
life when John Mason married Ellen Palmer, you'll
probably believe this nonsense."
" Then it was not true !" cried Katharine, smiling
happily the first time that day.
"When women boast of their conquests, they seldom
are true, Kate."
" But how unfeeling to say all this to me, your wife 1"
" She didn't know that ; with a secret like ours, one
is always getting into trouble, Kate ; as for this haughty
woman, I would not go near her again — she'll find you
out in no time."
Katharine smiled with a little bitterness.
" I suppose she would, for when the heart is full, it is
hard to look calm. Last night I longed to tell the
woman to her face, that I had a right to inquire after
you — just as good a right as she had to be taking on
about her husband."
" But you did not ?"
" Certainly not. I only sat and cried. The little
girl seemed to grudge me that comfort, for she said I
had no husband nor father off to sea, and she couldn't
tell what I wanted to cry for like her own mother."
" The little fool !" sneered Thrasher. " So they were
having a general season of mourning, because Mason
did not present himself?"
"Not exactly that," said Katharine; "still, I was
sorry for Mrs. Mason and the little girl, for they felt bad
enough ; and now, when you are safe — when I ought to
be so happy — it is a shame to talk over their faults. I
dare say she didn't mean any thing. Such women some-
times fancy that men want to offer themselves who never
had the idea. Besides, I told Mrs. Mason to her face
that I didn't believe a word of it."
144 MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE.
Thrasher laughed.
"And so you managed to get up a little sparring-
match between you, and all upon my account?"
" Not quite that," answered Katharine, laughing also.
"But I was so disappointed that every thing went
wrong. Besides, it's no use denying it, Mrs. Mason
made me angry. The idea of a married woman speak-
ing of her offers ! But then, you never did make her
an offer — and I knew it."
" Well, any way, you have a pretty sure safeguard
that I never shall make her one."
Katharine's face brightened beautifully. She looked
toward him with a long, steady glance of affection.
Tears trembled on her long lashes, and shone like dew
where they had fallen on the damask of her cheek. But
the smile upon her mouth, and the tenderness in her
eyes, were enough to excuse any man for remembering,
just then, that she was his own wife.
Thrasher drew her toward him, and kissed her with
hearty wai'mth for the first time since his return home.
I am afraid the dear old people standing by the win-
dow saw it, for they looked at each other slyly and
turned away.
CHAPTER XVIII.
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE IN THE SOUTH.
"MOTHER!"
" Well, Katharine ?"
"Nelson Thrasher came home last night."
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE. 145
"Better have stayed away!" answered the stern old
lady, thrusting her knitting-needle into the goose-quill
tube of her sheath, which was fastened, like the leaf of
some great, red flower, oa the right side of her waist.
" ]S"o good ever followed his coming, that I ever heard of."
The color came into Katharine's face at this, for no
woman likes to hear the man she loves spoken lightly
of. Still she was striving to lead her mother's mind
quietly to the bad news which lay heavy at her own
heart, and did not feel the scornful tones in which the
words were spoken, as she would have done.
For a little time there was no sound save the rattle of
Mrs. Allen's needle in its sheath, which grew quicker
and sharper each moment — a sure sign that the old lady
was disturbed in her mind. After knitting twice round
the top of a mixed stocking with unceasing vigor, amid
a great click and rattle of the needles, she drew a length
of yarn from the ball in her lap, with a jerk, and com-
menced again more deliberately. Katharine sat still,
for she knew that this was preliminary to a renewal of
the conversation. The first words, however, came out
with a suddenness that made her start.
" Have you seen that fellow ?"
Katharine could keep a secret, to her sorrow, poor
thing ; but she was incapable of a direct falsehood, so
she answered truly, but with a quiver of fear in her
voice.
"Yes, mother, he overtook me on my way home from
Mrs. Mason's, last night."
" You saw him last night, last night, and got no word
of my son. Where is he — when will he come, Katha-
rine Allen? You could not have forgotten to ask."
" No, mother ; but I — I was afraid to say any thing — •
9
116 MKS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE,
indeed, I did not know until this morning, for I saw him
under the great butternut tree by the road, and went
out — I did not know what sad news he brought."
" Sad news of my son 1" cried the woman, drawing
herself up as if to ward off a blow ; " did you say sad
news, Katharine ?"
"Yes, mother," answered the beautiful girl, stealing
close to the high-backed chair that her own face might
be concealed, but her voice and limbs shook with the
emotion she strove to suppress, and this the old woman
felt to the core of her heart.
" Is my son dead ?" she inquired, in a deep, hoarse
voice.
"I fear so, mother."
" Fear ! if you are not sure, speak out. Can't you see
that I must know, or — or drop dead in my chair !"
" They were wrecked. My brother, my poor, poor
brother would not abandon the vessel. They were com-
pelled to leave him."
« They— who ?"
" Every soul on board — no, I remember a negro and
a little boy stayed with him."
"And the man Nelson Thrasher left my son on the
stormy seas to die ?"
" No, no, he only went with the rest ; besides, he did
not know, 'till I told him, that David was my bi'other,
or your son."
"And they left him alone on the high seas to starve
or drown," said the old woman, hoarsely. " Katharine
Allen, never mention that man's name to me while you
live. If you see him passing my house, give warning,
that I may turn away and not curse him."
" Oh I mother, mother 1"
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE. 147
"Be still, girl!"
The old woman's face was bloodless as parchment.
She tried to go on with her work, but it fell from her
hands, while she, unconscious of the loss, kept on with
the motion of knitting, and looked down with her heavy
black eyes as if she were counting the stitches that were
only made in air.
" Mother, dear mother !"
The old lady did not speak, but the two hands
dropped heavily in her lap, and her face fell down upon
her bosom. The stillness of her grief was appalling.
Katharine knelt before her, pale as death.
" Ob, mother, speak to me 1"
All at once the old woman sat upright.
" Katharine Allen, tell me word for word what that
man said to you of my son David."
" Be composed, don't look so hard, and I will — you
shake so, mother."
" No, I do not shake. Pick up that knitting needle.
There, do I knit evenly ?" She placed the needle in its
sheath, and began taking her stitches with slow pre-
cision.
True enough, her nerves were braced like steel, and
like steel were her features locked. Katharine, poor
soul, repeated what Thrasher had told her of the ship-
wreck, faithfulty ; softening it with the sweet tenderness
of her voice, and putting in a word of excuse here and
there. Then she carae to the end, and told how that
little boy and his noble slave insisted upon staying with
Bice, after they had been saved from the very jaws of
death — a terrible death — like that which threatened him.
Now the old woman's heart began to heave, and her
great, heavy eyes kindled with living fire.
148 MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE.
" Katharine," she said, " were these three martyrs
alive when the cowards left them?"
" Yes, mother."
" Brave spirits," cried the old lady, rising suddenly.
" They were in the hands of a merciful God, and he will
save them ! We will not mourn David as lost till that
wreck is heard from. He is wise, and had courage.
Had there been no hope he would have left with the
rest."
Katharine's face brightened.
" Oh, mother, if it should prove so I"
" God did not inspire that brave child and the negro
to stand by him for nothing. I feel that he is alive in
the return of my own strength. When a strong man
dies, his mother should feel weak, though he were a
thousand miles off. But I, look, am I feeble and droop-
ing, as if the staff of my age "were torn from under me.
If I stand upright, it is because he was, he is a good
man. If I feel a power of vitality here, it is a proof
that kindred life beats somewhere in response to it."
Katharine gazed at her mother in astonishment.
There was something sublime in her great faith, a
grandeur in her attitude like that which we give to a
prophetess of the Bible. In her language and voice she
seemed lifted out of herself.
Katharine always held her mother in profound rever-
ence, in which love and fear were so equally blended,
that she was seldom quite at rest in her presence. Now
these feelings arose almost to religious exaltation.
With all the softening influence of love and youth
about her, she possessed many of the vigorous and
noble traits which gave the old woman an acknowledged
Buperiority in the neighborhood. With her mother's faith
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE. 149
her hopes arose, and coming out of their deep grief the
two sat down together, and strove to wrest some assur-
ance of the son and brother's safety from the news that
had reached them.
" He is alive — I feel that he is alive — my noble, strong
boy I" said the old woman, as she laid her head on the
pillow, but a heavy fear lay at her heart all the time.
" He was alive, and while there is life we may hope,"
whispered Katharine, sadly, as she sank to an unquiet
sleep. A heavier sorrow, alas, lay upon her ; the sorrow
of a corroding secret which the last few hours had ren-
dered almost a guilty burden from the new causes of
detestation that had sprung up between her mother and
the man she had so rashly married.
Thus every thing conspired to keep that young crea-
ture silent — Thrasher's request and the mother's preju-
dices, made more bitter by that man's desertion of her
son in his hour of need, kept the secret weighed down
in her bosom. True, this prejudice seemed very unrea-
sonable ; no one had compelled Rice to remain on the
wreck. The same means of escape which brought the
others home in safety was free to him ; but a feeling
stronger than facts possessed the old lady. Dead or
alive, she believed that some treachery had been prac-
ticed on her son, and that the traitor was Nelson
Thrasher.
Katharine remembered that the man was her husband
— that in a few months she might be called upon to
choose between the mother whom she regarded with
loving reverence and the husband whom she almost
adored. No wonder the poor girl shrunk from the mo-
ment which was to force the heart-rending decision upon
her. It was a terrible position for one so young and so
150 MRS. MASON'S RICII UNCLE.
helpless. Between these two strong, positive charac-
ters, there was little hope of tranquillity for her, even
though a partial reconciliation should take place.
One gleam of consolation did break upon her that
night, when she remembered her mother's faith. David
Rice was as good, as noble-hearted a man as ever drew
breath. It was the forlorn hope that he yet lived, and
would mediate for her and her husband with the stern
mother.
It was impossible for Thrasher to visit Mrs. Allen's
house ; Katharine told him so on their next interview.
Thus the young wife had no cause to complain that he
spent but little time with her, and seemed both occupied
and anxious when they did meet.
After the news which had disturbed her so, the old
lady kept her room, and all the duties of the house fell
upon Katharine, so that she had little opportunity to go
any distance from home, and the gossip of the neigh-
borhood seldom reached her.
Indeed, there was almost nothing for her to hear.
Thrasher held very slight intercourse with the neigh-
bors ; and as his father's farm was, like Mrs. Allen's
house, isolated among the hills, they knew little of his
movements. That he occasionally was seen going down
the footpath that led to Mrs. Mason's cottage in the
pine woods, counted for nothing. Mason had been
his captain, and it was but kind and right that he should
offer sympathy to the widow. All the neighborhood was
excited to pity in her behalf. What could she do, so
proud and helpless, with that pretty child to support ?
The widow was very desponding at first, and went
about the house mournfully, her beautiful eyes heavy
with tears, and her red lips ready to tremble if any one
MRS. MASON'S RICH UNCLE. 151
spoke to her. Compassion for her became general. The
kind farmers stopped on their way from mill, and insisted
on leaving a baking of flour at the gate. Pretty girls
came with, their aprons full of newly -laid eggs; and a
little fellow, diverging every morning from his way to
school, set a small tin pail, bright as silver, through the
fence, and ran away as if he had been stealing. The
pail always contained milk, with more cream in it than
ever came there naturally, and sometimes, on the grass
close by it, Mrs. Mason found a roll of golden butter
folded up in a cool cabbage leaf.
"Was it these kindnesses that softened the widow's
grief, and brought the rich bloom back to her cheek so
early after her loss ? or had she some hidden source of
consolation which kindled her face into more superb
beauty, as the earth looks fresher and more heavenly
after a tempest ? Certain it was, her step soon regained
its firmness, and her person its haughty poise. She
spoke of Captain Mason less frequently, and there was
in her manner something that surprised the good neigh-
bors and repelled their sympathies. She seemed ashamed
of the meagre attempts at mourning that she had been
enabled to make ; and exhausted quantities of vinegar
and cold tea in refreshing bits of French crape and
breadths of bombazine, which woiild look worn and rusty
spite of all she could do, and this brought tears into
her eyes when they had ceased to weep for deeper cares.
But, as I have said, after awhile all her beauty and
animation came back. She began to talk hopefully of
an uncle, who lived away off in the South, who would,
perhaps, send for her and little Rose, when he received
her letter, informing him of the helpless state in which
they had been left. No one of the neighbors had ever
152 MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE.
heard of this uncle before, and her constant boasting
about his wealth and the style in which he lived, rather
set them aback. It cast their own little kindness quite
into the shade. How could they offer fresh eggs and
rolls of butter to a woman who wore her cheap black
dress like a queen, and talked of pearls and diamonds
all the day long, as if she had discovered a mine, and
wanted to find out its exact value.
CHAPTER XIX.
MBS. MASON LEAVES THE PINE WOODS.
AT last, Mrs. Mason announced that the expected let-
ter had arrived, with money for her expenses to the
South — she never told the exact locality — and that she
and little Rose would set forth at once, taking the
steamboat from New Haven to New York, where her
passage southward was already engaged.
All this was very magnificent and almost startling,
but corroborated by a supply of money which the
widow evidently possessed, and by the disposition of her
little household furniture, which she distributed among
her friends with the careless prodigality of a princess.
The preparations for her departure went on spiritedly.
With nothing to prepare ; for all her new mourning
dresses, she announced, were to be made in New York ;
it was only packing a small trunk, and taking leave of
the old neighbors, and she was ready with little Rose
to go forth into her new life. A neighbor had been en-
MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE. 153
gaged to take her to town in a dashing, one horse
wagon, which he had just bought, and in this way the
whole arrangement promised to go off with the eclat
which the widow Mason always affected.
Thus time passed until the night before her journey.
The furniture had not yet been removed, and every thing
retained the old homelike aspect; from any appearance
of confusion that existed, you would have fancied that
the mistress of the house was only going out for a morn-
ing drive. She seemed rather elated than otherwise,
and received her friends with half royal condescension,
not absolutely offensive, but calculated to check the
honest grief with which old neighbors parted on those
days when a household was breaking up. Many kind
wishes were, however, exchanged, little presents were
brought in, such as patchwork holders, work bags, and
pincushions, besides a pair of fine, lambs' wool mittens,
knitted by the oldest woman in the town, was presented
to her with a gentle message of farewell, followed by
various other trifles, calculated to appeal eloquently to
a kind heart. All these, the widow received with con-
cealed and smiling indifference, thinking in her soul
how paltry such things were to a person of her expec-
tations.
But little Rose made up for all her mother's lack of
feeling. She was broken-hearted at the thought of leav-
ing her playmates, burst into tears when the old people
patted her on the head, and refused to be comforted by
all the promises of grandeur which were whispered in
her ear, either by her mother or her friends.
That night — after the neighbors had gone away, and
Rose was in bed hugging a home-made doll which one
of the lity? girls had brought her — a boy who had been
154 MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE.
kept late with his lessons, climbed softly over the door
yard fence. He was afraid that the gate would creak,
and disturb the family if Rose should be in bed ; so
with a long string of robins' eggs held in one hand, he
leaped into the grass and stole softly up to one of the
front windows. A corner of the paper blind was turned
up by the back of a chair which it had fallen against,
and through this opening, our little adventurer saw
clearly into the room. First, he looked for Rose, the
object of his juvenile idolatry ; but her little chair was
empty, and her tiny morocco shoes and red worsted
stockings lay in a heap on the seat, sure proofs that she
had gone to bed.
This was a sad disappointment to the lad, but he soon
forgot it in the surprise which followed. Mrs. Mason
and some strange man were sitting by a work table,
which stood near the window. A tallow candle shed its
light on the widow's face, but the man sat with his back
to the window, his features all in deep shadow. His hand
was extended half over the table, clutching a quantity
of gold or silver coins, the boy could not tell which, for
gold money he had never seen, and the pieces that es-
caped between the man's fingei's, and fell ringing on the
table, might have been Spanish quarters, or guineas, for
aught he knew. At any rate, that great handful of
money seemed a marvellous sum to him, and when Mrs.
Mason received it in her two hands, he wondered that
she did not jump for joy. But instead of this, she took
a variegated work bag from the table drawer, poured
the money into it with some smiling remark, and cross-
ing the room, unlocked her trunk and placed the bag in
one corner.
While she was thus occupied, the lad observed a
MBS. MASON'S DEPABTUBE. 155
strange looking box upon the table, which the person
still sitting there had opened. A bright flash came out
of the box, as if something had struck fire within. Mrs.
Mason came back to the table. She had taken off her
mourning dress, replacing it with a black silk skirt and
dimity short gown, with loose, open sleeves that left
her fine arms partially exposed, every time she lifted
them. She came up to the lable and seemed struck with
wonder, for lifting up both arms, she uttered an excla-
mation of delight which the boy heard clearly.
The man snatched something from the box, arose, and
seized her arm. A little struggle followed, quick, im-
passioned words, which the listener did not understand,
but he saw that the man was pleading for something
which she smilingly refused. That boy knew at last what
it meant ; he had begged and coaxed exactly in the same
way for a good-by kiss, which little Rose resisted,
almost as her mother was doing now. He had promised
the very string of robins' eggs in his hand, as a tempta-
tion, and all to no effect. He remembered his own dis-
appointment, and rather pitied the poor man, who,
baffled and mortified, bent down and kissed Mrs. Mason's
arm, just above a glittering band which circled the wrist,
flashing there like a ribbon of fire.
Mrs. Mason was evidently angry and resentful, even
of this liberty. She tore the bracelet from her arm, and
tossed it haughtily into the box. Still the man's back
was toward the window, so it was impossible to mark
the effect this had on him, save by the droop of his
shoulders, and a deprecating action of the hands. But
the widow motioned him away, frowning heavily. The
man sat down, closed the box, and bent his forehead
upon it. She leaned over the table and spoke to him.
MKS. MASON'S DEPARTURE.
He started up with a suddenness that frightened the
lad, who leaped the fence like a deer, and fled up the
road.
It was a long time before the boy ever mentioned what
he had witnessed that night. The remembrance of his
own shy feelings about little Rose kept him silent.
Besides this, he had a consciousness that there was
something to be ashamed of in peeping through the
windows of a neighbor's house, and so wisely kept his
peace about what he had discovered in this surreptitous
manner.
The next morning, a little group of neighbors gathered
to see Mrs. Mason off. A light, yellow wagon, stood be-
fore the gate,. a restive, gray horse, stamped and chafed
beneath his harness till it rattled again. The widow was
shaking hands in the entry, while the proud owner of
that equipage carried out her little hair trunk, and put
it behind the seat. Rose was crying bitterly over a
gray kitten that came and rubbed itself against her
ankles, and purred as if it rather enjoyed the unusual
commotion. This pretty child really seemed to feel the
parting from her home much more keenly than her
mother.
It was the father of the bright boy that had so naughtily
looked into the window — who owned the wagon. With
his heart full of grief, the poor fellow had begged a ride,
and stood dolefully by the gate, peeping at little Rose
through an opening of the boards.
At last Mrs. Mason came forth into the morning sun-
shine, prepared for her journey. The earth was wet,
and she gathered up the skirt of her dark dress, as a
queen manages her train, revealing a finely shaped foot,
with which she trod daintily through the grass. Really
MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE. 157
it was difficult to say which struck the beholder most
forcibly in that woman ; the regal style with which she
carried herself, or the marvellous physical beauty which
gave grace to her very haughtiness. No one could deny
that she was a superb creature, even in that cheap bom-
bazine dress and gloomy black bonnet.
Mrs. Mason took her seat in the wagon. The owner
placed himself by her side, and began to unwind the long
lash from his whip handle, with the air of a man who
meant to do the thing up handsomely. Little Rose had
been lifted over the wheel, and placed into the centre of
the seat, like an exclamation point in the middle of a
short sentence. Thus they were all crowded together
a little uncomfortably.
" Wait, wait," cried the lad, dashing into the house,
and bringing forth Rose's tiny arm-chair with its
pretty crimson cushion. " There," he said, choking
back a great sob, "if pa brings it back in the wagon,
maybe you'll let me keep it ; nobody shall ever sit in
it, Rose, 'till you come home again."
Then Rose covered her face with two dimpled little
hands that were wet all over in a moment. " Oh, don't
—la, don't!"
The lad sprang up on the hub of the front wheel, and
laid the string of robins' eggs into her lap, his face all
in a blaze, and his eyes full of tears.
" Don't forget me, Rose, don't — no boy will ever love
you half so much as I do."
Rose dropped her hands, looked down at the blue
eggs in her lap, and throwing her arms around his
neck, kissed him three or four times.
The farmer and Mrs. Mason looked at each other, and
laughed softly. The boy heard them, sprang down
158 MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE.
from the wheel, and dashed into the house, where no
one could see what a great baby he was ready to make
of himself. Then he watched the wagon drive off
through a flood of blinding tears, while little Rose
flung kisses back at random, sobbing as if her heart
would break, and wondering if any of them would reach
him.
When the farmer returned from his ten miles' drive
into New Haven, he brought news that a steamboat
lay at the foot of " Long Wharf," ready to sail in half
an hour after Mrs. Mason reached it, and that he saw
her go on board in great spirits, with Rose, who had
cried all the way, but seemed a little pacified by the
sight of the broad waters, and the great puffing boat in
which she was about to cross them.
Nelson Thrasher happened to be standing near when
the farmer said this, and one of the rare smiles I have
spoken of crossed his face, but he made no observa-
tions, and soon took a cross-cut through the fields
which led him by Mrs. Allen's, on his way home.
Katharine was watching for him at the back window.
She had heard of Mrs. Mason's journey, and exulted a
little when Nelson passed the house on his way to Falls
Hill, an hour after she had started. All that night she
had been troubled lest he should wish to bid the widow
farewell ; for, spite of herself, a lingering distrust still
kept its hold on her heart, when she remembered the
conversation of that evening.
Thrasher saw her at the window, and made a signal,
which soon brought her outside of the stone wall, and
under a huge apple tree, which flung its branches across
it and into the garden.
Never since his return had Thrasher seemed so cheer
MRS. MASON'S DEPARTURE. 159
ful. He even inquired after the old lady with some-
thing of interest, and spoke of the time when she would
regard him with less prejudice. All this gave Katharine
a lighter heart ; her beauty, which had been dimmed by
adversity of late, bloomed out again. If not so stately
as Mrs. Mason, she was far more lovely, and her fair,
sweet face was mobile with sentiments which the widow
could not have understood. Compared to that woman,
she was like the apple blossoms of May contrasted
with autumn fruit — one a child of the pure, bright
spring, appealing to the imagination ; the other a growth
of storm, sunshine, and dew, mellowing down from its first
delicate beauty to a perfection of ripeness which sense
alone can appreciate. There existed elements in that
young creature's character from which the best poetry
of life is wrought. Heroism, self-abnegation, endurance,
and truthfulness — all these rendered her moral charac-
ter beautiful as her person.
But, alas ! our future pages will prove all this. Why
should we attempt to foreshadow in words a destiny
and a nature like hers ? It is enough that she looked
lovely as an April morning that bright day, as she stood
under the apple tree, leaning against the mossy old
wall, talking to her husband, sometimes with her lips,
sometimes with her wonderful eyes, which said a thou-
sand loving things that her voice refused to utter.
He fell into the current of her cheerfulness, and chatted
pleasantly, till the slanting shadows warned her that
the tea hour had arrived, and that her mother would be
impatient. With his kisses warm upon her mouth, she
went singing into the house, happy and rich in sudden
joyousness.
160 ANOTHER SEPARATION.
* -
CHAPTER XX.
ANOTHER SEPARATION.
IT was about two weeks after Mrs. Mason's departure,
when Thrasher began to talk of going to sea again.
This depressed his parents greatly. They had hoped
that his attachment to Katharine Allen would have kept
him at the homestead. Thus they had carefully avoided
any allusion to the subject of his departure, satisfied
that every thing was progressing to forward their wishes.
When he spoke of going away in the course of another
week, it was a terrible shock to them, and seemed a
painful subject to himself.
Katharine had, from the first, expected his departure
— its necessity had been urged upon her on their first
meeting under the butternut tree. She acquiesced in
his decision then, and never thought of disputing it
afterward. But, as the time drew near, she became very
sad — vague doubts beset her night and day — formless,
reasonless, as she strove to convince herself; but the
struggle was always going on — the feelings reasoned out
of her mind overnight, were certain to return in the
morning.
It was a sorrowful position for" a young creature like
her, inexperienced every way, needing counsel as no hu-
man being ever required it before, yet afraid to breathe
a word of the trouble that oppressed her, lest it should
alienate her entirely from her suffering mother, whom,
next to Thrasher, she loved with the tenderest devotion.
It was an honor to this young creature that she bore
ANOTHER SEPARATION. 161
all this load of anxiety without a single word of com-
plaint. She felt that all the concealment that followed
her marriage had sprung from her own desire. But the
dread of giving pain to her mother had exerted an over-
powering influence over her. Thrasher had not seemed
to care about the matter. Whether his marriage was
proclaimed at once or not, had been a subject of indif-
ference. If secrecy had become more important now,
she did not realize it ; but imagined that he was still
indulging her fears rather than guiding them. The sad
news that he had brought, the sickness it had inflicted
upon her mother, were stern reasons why she should not
speak then.
All this Thrasher knew, and was content to leave
things to their natural course. So, instead of offering
hindrance to his departure, Katharine was almost
anxious for him to go, that his return within the pro-
mised time might be more certain.
Still the young man lingered at the homestead, though
letters reached him from New York twice in one week,
from ship owners, he said, urging him to be on hand for
a fresh voyage, where, he could not exactly tell. The
vessel belonged to no established line, but traded with
the West Indies, generally.
The old people were inconsolable. It seemed, they
both said plaintively, as if they were parting with their
son forever. Why must he leave them again? The
homestead and all they possessed in the world should be
his if he would but marry and settle down. They only
wanted a comfortable room in some corner of the old
house, where, with a knowledge qf his presence and
happiness, their content would be perfect.
He could not answer these tender entreaties, but sat
10
162 ANOTHER SEPARATION.
moodily, striving not to listen. His mind was made np
— his career marked out. The great loves of his life
were antagonistic ; one must be surrendered — the holy
or the unholy. He turned from the wholesome fruit,
and took that which was ashen at the core.
Thrasher might have avoided the last farewell ; but
painful as it was, he could not for.ce himself to leave the
old people unawares. The last evening must come, the
last good-night must be said. He would listen to the
old man's voice on his knees once more, and let his
mother kiss him, as of old, before he went to sleep in
that house for the last time. It was all very painful —
worse than leaving his young wife ; worse than death,
he said to himself, a hundred times ; all his innocent
memories, all his household affections, to be torn up at
the roots by his own hands. For what, and for whom ?
Would other love come into his life and compensate
for this which he threw away ? His teeth were clenched,
and great drops stood on his forehead, as he asked these
questions. But his resolve was made ; nothing could
change that — not even the gentle old woman, with sweet
motherly love in her eyes, who came and sat by him so
meekly, and talked of the next thanksgiving, when he
would be at home again, and they would have such a
dinner. She had set aside the plumpest young turkey
on the farm, and it should not be killed till he came
back — thanksgiving or no thanksgiving.
God help the man ! He stood out against all this ;
every affectionate string in his heart trembled in the
struggle, but his bad, strong will, carried him through.
That night he met Katharine by the old stone wall,
when they bade each other farewell. He was gentle to
her then, and his voice was so full of anguish, that she
ANOTHER SEPARATION. 163
gathered up her strength to comfort him. The poor girl
spoke hopefully of the little time they would be apart,
and how constantly she would think of him — pray for
him. She dwelt, too, on other things — on the great happi-
ness that would come in the future. Her voice grew
soft with tenderness, and her sweet face looked heavenly
in the starlight, as she made this womanly effort to
console him ; but his eyes were cast down, and a heavy,
leaden feeling, weighed upon his shoulders. Dumb and
granite-hearted, he listened, striving not to hear.
Katharine's time was up 5 in a few minutes her old
mother would be calling for her. She already saw her
tall person casting its shadow across the window, as she
walked to and fro, impatient of her loneliness.
"Nelson, I must go!"
The anguish that broke forth in these words smote
through his heart, making it leap and tremble, but leaving
only a gleam of tenderness behind. The rock of his
stern will was unbroken even by that cry, from a heart
as true and loving as ever beat in a woman's bosom.
He trembled from head to foot, within the clasp of
her arms; cold, spasmodic kisses were pressed on her
face. The hands which grasped hers at last, were cold
as ice.
They parted thus. He turned and walked heavily
away, while Katharine went back to her mother, entreat-
ing God to help her bear this separation. It was only
for a little time, she murmured over and over again ; but
even then, she had need of strength from heaven.
Few words' were uttered in the Thrasher homestead
that night. The old man sat upon the hearth, grave
and heavy hearted, smoking at intervals, but quite un-
conscious when the pipe went out between his lips.
164 THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE.
The mother held her knitting work — she would not have
been herself without it — but her fingers rested motion-
less on the needles half the time, and she sat gazing
wistfully upon the floor till the tears blinded her. Then
she would start, look meekly around, to be sure that she
was not observed, and wipe her eyes with the cotton
handkerchief which she softly drew from her pocket.
Thrasher saw all this, and the iron heart almost melted
within him. If the dear old people suffered thus at a
temporary parting, what would the future bring them ?
Again the struggle commenced, battled, strove, tortured
him, but ended as before.
In the morning, long before daylight, he arose, and
with a valise in his hand, went awajr, leaving every thing
behind him in darkness. When the old people missed
him, they said very gently to one another, " He could
not bear to say good-by. It was his kind heart. Our
Nelson always was kind-hearted."
Katharine, who had watched at her window from dawn
until the sun was high, growing pale and sad every mo-
ment, heard that he was gone, and whispered, amid her
tears, " His heart failed him ; he shrunk from seeing
my poor face again — my own dear husband ; how kind-
hearted he is !"
CHAPTER XXI.
THE MINISTER AT BATS HOLLOW GETS A WIFE.
I DARE say that the village to which I take my reader
is a town of some importance now ; but years ago, it
THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE. 165
was nothing but a cluster of houses snugly nested in a
valley, through which a small stream wound itself,
sinuously creeping through the meadows and along the
base of the hills, in so many picturesque windings, that
you really could not tell in what direction it was destined
to run at last, north or south.
The village stood at two crossroads, which the river
intersected three or four times ; besides, a brook from
the hills met it just below the corners, demanding a
little plank bridge for itself, over which a clump of
golden willows bent and sighed pleasantly all the day
long. A great,, square, barnlike meeting-house, with
pews laid out like town lots, and aisles broader than any
street in Constantinople, occupied the centre of the
village. A range of wagon sheds stood behind it, and
a small prairie of greensward lay all around it. There had
been some vague attempt at a steeple, which the preju-
dices of the community had cut short at the belfry, and
left without a spire, which gave the edifice a broad, flat
look, which would have driven a modern architect mad.
On the top of a broad platform, which rose half way
to the ceiling, and was approached by two steep flights
of steps, was perched a little sentry box of a pulpit,
surmounted by something in the shape of a huge toad-
stool, which the architects of that day called a sounding
board.
In this pulpit, Sunday after Sunday, Mr. Prior, min-
ister of the parish, held forth after the good old fashion,
when sermons had more heads than a centipede has legs,
and hearers got the value of the minister's salary in
good, sound gospel. Besides, Mr. Prior had other
sources of popularity — his doctrine was sound, and his
sentences offered rare opportunities for short snoozes,
166 THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE.
which came oftenest between seventhly and eighthly, or
thereabout. Not that minister Prior was dull — nothing
of the kind ; he was a very learned man, educated sol-
emnly in a gloomy college, and lifted so completely out
of the world during his clerical studies that he never
quite found his way back again.
After Mr. Prior had settled himself in the ministry
some ten or fifteen years, he married the most accom-
plished and correct person of all that region, a lady who
had kept the district school, to general acceptance, six
consecutive summers, had embroidered a cover for the
communion table with her own hands, and was only pre-
vented adding a gorgeous book mark and a pair of slip-
pers for the minister, by the fear of what people might
say.
I think it was one of his deacons who first put a vague
idea of matrimony in the minister's head. One day the
two were standing on a little swell of ground which
overlooked the juncture of the mountain rivulet and the
river. The clump of golden willows looked beautiful
that morning ; the yellow boughs and twigs glanced in
the sunshine, and the thick leaves were all in a quiver
under the kisses of the wind. Have I said that the
brook clove one of the greenest meadows you ever set
eyes on, before it crossed the road ? If not, understand
that pleasant fact now, and more, that groups of trees
had been left near the brook, all along its banks, and
one of its grand curves hedged in the loveliest spot for a
house your imagination ever dwelt upon.
" I say, minister," said the deacon — this was some
time before our story, remember — " I say, what if you
get married, and settle down in that ere meadow ?"
The minister blushed, and looked, as the deacon after-
ward said, every which way, before he answered.
THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE. 167
" Me marry, Deacon Smith 5 me !"
"And why not? there's acres of Scripture for it, and
not one word agin it ; for how could St. Paul know any
thing about it, never having had experience like us
married men ?"
" Us married men," how strange the words sounded.
" Us married men." The minister turned the bow of
his white cravat more in front and settled himself compla-
cently in his rusty black clothes. " Us married men."
"We talked about it in vestry meeting t'other
night, and the notion seemed to take wonderfully. We
all agreed to a T about the person, but our land for a
home lot, building the house, and all that, was rather a
puzzler."
" I should think so," said the minister, taking out a
broad silk handkerchief, and wiping his forehead, which
was getting crimson again. " Then you agreed on —
on — on the person."
" Unanimous," answered the deacon. " Not a dis-
senting voice."
"And— and— "
" Oh, yes, of course you've the best right of anybody
to know first. It's Miss Bruce — salt of the earth — salt
of the earth, minister."
" You think so ?" said the pastor, meekly.
"We know it; trust the vestry for discretion and
sound judgment too. Isn't that a building spot, now."
" Beautiful," said the minister, in a confused way ;
"but the lady, did you ask her ?"
" Not exactly ; agreed to put it to vote first. Then I
promised to inform you of the sense of the meeting, and
brother Wells will speak to Miss Bruce. It's all settled
before this time, I dare say."
168 THE MINISTEK GETS A WIFE.
The minister drew a deep breath, as if he had just
come out of a shower bath, and then, his vision being
cleared, took a survey of the meadow lot. The deacon
saw how his attention was directed, and went on.
" I agreed to give the lot, the hull meadow, under-
stand. Deacon Styles will find the timber, and the rest
'11 be divided up, sort of gine rally, among the congrega-
tion. Then the women folks are going to get up quilt-
ings, and spinning frolics, and so on. In about three
months, I reckon, all will be ready."
Again the minister gave a shower bath gasp.
" There is brother Wells coming now, on his black
horse, all fixed up in his Sunday clothes," cried the
deacon, triumphantly.
The brother rode up, looking as if he had something
portentous on his mind. " Well," said the deacon, " how
did you get along, brother Wells ?"
" Tolerably, tolerably ; she was a little sot on having
the minister come over himself, but when I told her
it was the solemn sense of the vestry, of course she
gave in."
"And she — no objections," said the minister.
"Objections!" cried both the men at once, "how
could she?"
" Well, I don't know," answered the pastor. " That
is, I didn't know but she might think it a little sudden."
"Sudden! why it has been on our minds a whole
year. It isn't just the thing for our minister to be
boarding about like a schoolmaster. A servant of the
Lord should set under his own vine and fig tree."
The minister wiped his face again, and cast a glance
toward the meadow, which began to look like home
already.
THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE. 169
" I stopped at the saw-mill and bespoke the timber,"
said brother Wells ; " so if you'd just as lief, we'll go
down and pick out the exact spot."
A smile glowed out on the minister's face. The
deacons saw it, and nodded pleasantly one to the
other.
" Minister," said Wells, leaning down from his horse,
" if you should take a notion to go over yonder any
time afore the house is built, just consider this ere black
horse as your own."
" Thank you kindly, brother."
"And," saidT)eacon French, " I stopped at the tailor's
coming along ; he's got a firstrate piece of English broad-
cloth, but he says it's seven years since you have been
measured, minister, and to make a good fit you'll have
to go again."
" Doubtless — doubtless !" answered the minister, ready
to cry under all this goodness — a house, a wife, and a
new suit of clothes all at once ! It really was too
much of a mercy ; he didn't know how to be thankful
enough.
Well, they went down to the meadow, selected a
lovely spot for the house, and stopped at the tailor's on
their way home. That very week a little boy came
over to Deacon Wells, and asked, in a mysterious way,
if he would let the minister have his black horse to ride
over the hill.
Deacon Wells- smiled grimly, and brought out the
horse himself, taking great pains to tighten the saddle
girth and shorten the stirrup leathers properly, before
he gave the bridle into the boy's hand.
It wasn't the last time that black horse was sent for
to go over the hill, and the result exhibited itself, in the
170 THE MINISTER GETS A WIFE.
course of a few months, in a pretty, white house, with a
porch and dormer windows, standing in the greenest
curve of the brook ; a thicket of wild roses, only half
shutting out a view of the water ; ducks were swimming
up and down the little stream, and a flock of hens run-
ning riot in the meadow grass. Besides this, a neat,
little body, with the quaintest bonnet and neatest dress
in the world, came into the meeting-house with the min-
ister, who appeared in a new suit of black, separated
from him in the broad aisle in front of the deacon's seat,
and while he mounted the pulpit stairs, she turned into
a side pew, and listened to his discourse, from beginning
to end, with unbroken interest.
But it is the weakness of vestry-men to vote money
which they have not the power to collect. The minister
was married, and his house built, but a debt lay on it,
which troubled him as only studious men can be troubled
by monied claims.
The little wife came to his aid. She was a highly ac-
complished, well educated woman, who had earned her
own living from early girlhood, and was not ashamed
or afraid to help her husband in any womanly fashion
that presented itself. She had plenty of room, good
health, and a clear brain, all sources of usefulness, which
she was prompt to put into action. Teaching was her
business. If she could obtain a couple of boarding
scholars into her own house, at city prices, the debts
upon their home would soon be removed.
The dainty little housewife began to talk with her
husband about the project one morning just as he was
resolving the fifth head of his next sermon, at which
time he never heard a syllable addressed to him by any
mortal being, but always assented blandly to every
thing proposed.
THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 171
So, under the full conviction that lie approved her
plan, she wrote to a friend in New York, requesting her
to aid in obtaining the desired pupils.
When his sermon was over, the minister received the
news of this arrangement with considerable astonish-
ment, but he submitted without protest, as the letter
had already gone.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE MINISTER'S WIFE TAKES PUPILS.
BAYS HOLLOW stands on the very boundary line which
separates Connecticut from New York. Half the val-
ley was in one State, half in the other ; but the minis-
ter's house, in fact the whole village, lay in Connecti-
cut. Persons acquainted with the geography of that
part of the country, will understand that the easiest
mode of access to this place before railroads threw their
iron belts from State to State, was by the Hudson river.
Indeed, between New York and the minister's house,
there was scarcely half a day's land travel, and that was
easily accomplished in a stage-coach that ran twice a
week from the river.
One night, it was late in the autumn, this stage-coach
stopped at the minister's house, and after great tramp-
ling of horses, crashing of iron steps, and unhooking of
straps, a lady was assisted out. Her trunk was set on
the turf, a basket, and after that, a charming little girl
"was lifted through the door ; bang — crash — a shout to
the horses, and off the stage thundered, arousing the
whole neighborhood with its noise.
172 THE MINISTER'S WIFE.
Mrs. Prior came out with a white sun bonnet shading
her modest face, and a tidy, black apron tied over her
calico dress. The rich travelling costume of the lady,
her stately beauty, joined with a haughty pride of car-
riage, impressed her greatly. The little girl was, no
doubt, to be her pupil. What a lovely little fairy she
was, with her blue eyes so full of light, and her curls
falling in waves and dancing in ringlets over her
shoulders.
" Is it Mrs. Prior ?" inquired the traveller, with a sort
of unpleasant politeness. " Your friend in New York
recommended this as a quiet place where I and my
daughter could be made comfortable for a few months."
"Yes, madame," said the lady, somewhat disturbed ;
" I desired scholars, not boarders only."
"And I bring you scholars, madame."
" One — yes, I see, and a sweet creature she is," said
the minister's wife, looking at the little girl, who was
drawing slowly toward her.
" More than one," answered the lady, blushing crim-
son ; "I wish to study n^self, partly to encourage the
child, partly because I require lessons almost as much
as she does."
"You, lady?"
" No matter about explanations. I have really come
to be your pupil with my daughter ; my education is
deficient — I wish to learn. I am a widow, and quiet is
good for me. I am quick, have a fine memory, and am
willing to study hard. This is my object in coming —
will you take me ?"
" If you wish it, certainly ; but we are plain people —
the minister and I ; our way of living may not suit
you."
THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 173
" Do not trouble yourself about that. I shall content
myself with anything; it is knowledge I came after."
" I — I suppose my friend said something about
terms," faltered the minister's wife, blushing.
" Certainly ; but that was for children ; of course I
shall be more trouble. If I pay you just as much again
will it answer?"
" It would be wrong to take it."
" Not at all ; so if you will have the trunks carried
in we can settle the terms comfortably. I am ready to
pay half the sum in advance, and commence study at
once."
Mrs. Prior called the hired girl to help carry in the
trunks, and led the way into the parlor. Mr. Prior
passed them in the hall and made one of his solemnly
polite bows. The visitor answered it with a sweeping
salutation, and entered the parlor a little discomfited.
" Your husband is a clergyman, as I understand ?"
" Yes, he is the minister here ; I hope you will like
him."
" Oh, certainly."
The lady placed her travelling basket on the table,
and opening it took out a heavy purse. Pouring out a
quantity of gold she divided it without counting and
pushed it toward Mrs. Prior.
"This will be sufficient to commence with, I fancy."
Mrs. Prior looked at the little pile of Louis d'or in
absolute consternation. In her whole life she had never
seen so much gold.
"It is good money," said the lady.
" Yes, doubtless," answered the minister's wife, ex-
amining a piece of gold. " French coin."
" You read French, then ?"
174 THE MINISTER'S WIFE.
" Oh, yes."
" And can teach it ?»
" I think so."
" And how long will it take me to learn ?"
" That depends on the — the powers of application
you possess."
" Oh, never fear, I accomplish all I undertake — music
too ?"
" I have no instrument."
" But you can teach music?"
"Yes."
" Then if there is an instrument to be got we will
have it. This is a nice, airy room, and a little more
furniture would not hurt it."
Mrs. Prior was busy counting the gold ; her face
flushed, and she made sad. mistakes.
" This is too much," she said. " It would cover
board and tuition for a year."
" Well, perhaps we shall stay so long."
" But even then "
The lady made an impatient gesture.
" Pray don't trouble me about the money. If it is
enough, well — if not, I will give you more."
Here the minister came in. His wife moved toward
him with the gold in her hands.
" See what the Lord has done for us through this
lady," she said.
He glanced at the gold, smiled benignly, and with
gentle politeness inquired the lady's name.
" Mrs. Mason — Ellen Mason, of South Carolina," she
answered, coloring as she spoke. " Rose, my dear, come
and shake hands with the gentleman."
Rose shut the fanciful little basket that she carried
THE VILLAGE DOCTOE. 175
on her arm and came forward smiling in all her fea-
tures ; but as she stood on tiptoe pursing her pretty
mouth like a rosebud, her mother took up the basket.
The little girl saw it, broke away from the minister's
hold and ran back, crying out :
" Oh, ma — ma ! take care or you'll break my string
of robins' eggs !"
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR IN A SNOW-STORM.
SNOW ! deep, deep snow everywhere ! It lay three feet
on a level in the river vale. It spread a shining crust over
the hills. It lodged in the branches of the densely
green pine woods, and whitened the roof of every house
in the neighborhood. The bury ing-ground on the hill,
was wrapped so deep in a fleecy shroud, that you could
hardly distinguish the marble grave-stones from its
white surface, and the church, always a beautiful object,
with its slender steeple and white walls, looked like a
temple wrought from the snow itself — something that
the angels had visited overnight, and left spotless as
themselves.
With all this depth and volume of snow, crusted over
as it had been by a sharp frost, it was almost impossible
that the roads could be broken in a single day. Still, a
few ox sleds had marked out the line of the turnpike,
and some sleighs had followed in their track, with a
wrangle of bells that told of the struggle made by the
176 THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
smoking horses which drew them. On the bank of the
river, on the Chewstown side, the highway runs along
the side of a hill, which terminates abruptly at the
bridge, where the New Haven turnpike intersects it.
There is nothing very beautiful about the spot now,
for the hemlocks, and young tamarisks are all cut down,
the dog-wood and shad-blossoms cleared away, and the
hill is almost left without a shade. But at the time of
this snow-storm, the naked boughs and evergreens
proved how thick and green the summer shadows must
be, and if the " Rock Spring " sent its waters flashing
through the snow, melting it softly away, you could, at
least, imagine how cool and bright they were when ferns,
mosses, and violets crept into the turf, and coA-ered
the rocks with the green and azure of a spring birth.
This road was not generally so much travelled as the
one across the sand banks, but two or three loads of
wood had passed that way, revealing the depths of the
drifts without rendering them much more passable.
Still a " solitary horseman " came out from the shelter
of the hemlocks, and made his way very slowly toward
the bridge. His horse, a stout animal, with any amount
of mane and foretop streaming in the wind, came tramp-
ing heavily through the snow, emitting clouds of steam
from his sides, while each labored breath bearded his
under lip with icicles, and fringed his dilating nostrils
with quivering frost-work.
The man who had braved that almost impassable road
and cold day, was one of the most remarkable person-
ages known in that portion of the country. His very
eccentricities gave force and vitality to the general re-
gard. Singular in person, singular in character, unlike
all other men in almost every particular, he was, per-
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR. 177
haps, somewhat for this very reason, looked up to and
reverenced as the peculiar property of the neighbor-
hood. Learned he certainly was ; and neither before or
after has another man been found wfio could, in all
tilings, pretend to fill his place.
This man was the village doctor; no, the district
doctor, rather, for his ride extended over thirty miles,
and as a consulting physician over the whole State. With
a huge bear-skin cap upon his head, and an ample brown
overcoat, girded to his waist by a broad leather belt,
and falling low on each side of his horse, he issued from
behind the trees. Two crutches, worn smooth as glass,
were crossed before him on the saddle bow. He held
the bridle loosely in his hands and encouraged the horse
with many a droll saying, as if the animal were human
and could enjoy his quaint humor. At the " Rock
Spring" there was a struggle between the doctor and
his steed. For an unknown number of years the horse
had invariably quenched his thirst in that particular
place, and he was determined not to make this day an
exception, though a deep round hole, scarcely larger
than the doctor's cap, and a moist sinking of the snow
across the road might have deceived a less sagacious
animal into a belief that this old drinking place had
been swallowed up by the storm.
There was no deceiving our doctor's brown horse in
any thing, much less in a case of appetite like that. He
was a dainty animal in the matter of drink, and water
so pure and crystaline as that which lost its smothered
music in the snow, was not to be found within twenty
miles.
The doctor was in haste, or he never would have
dreamed of contesting any thing with his faithful steed.
11
178 THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
Indeed, the case must have been one of life or death
which could bring any man on the highway at a time
like that. lie began to protest and reason with the
horse after his Eccentric fashion, and finally went so far
as to gather up the bridle and tighten the bit, a pro-
cedure which so astonished the horse that he backed
sideways into a drift, viciously slanted his ears, and
subsided into a state of masterly inactivity, the most
difficult thing to conquer that we know of, either in
statesmanship or horseflesh.
The doctor chuckled, laid the bridle down cai'essingly
on the neck that had made a lamentable failure in striv-
ing to arch itself, and folding his hands in the loose
sleeves of his overdress, waited. Obstinate animals and
obstinate men are apt to feel as if fighting the air when
no one opposes them. The horse began to realize this
sensation. The snow-drift into which he had backed
was cold and deep. The waters of the spring murmured
a soft enticement. First, he pointed one ear and turned
his head with sly, compunctious timidity, as if ashamed
to enjoy his own triumph. Then he pointed the other
ear, shook himself a little, tramped heavily toward the
spring, and thrusting his head deep into the snow, began
to drink.
The doctor indulged in a laugh, and when the horse
withdrew his head, shaking a storm of drops back into
the spring, he patted him softly, called him a good fel-
low for having his own way, and appeared so much like
the obliged party that the animal, to his dying hour, was
never quite certain of his own triumph.
After all, this struggle had taken but little time. The
horse breasted his work with fresh vigor after it. He
pushed through and trampled down the snow until he
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR. 179
reached the bridge, stalked over it, toiled through the
valley and up Falls Hill, never stopping till he reached
the huge willow tree which stood on the crossroad that
led to Bungy. This was a farming district, back of
Castle Rock, where the Thrasher farm and Mrs. Allen's
place lay.
While the doctor was breathing his horse under the
willow, a teamster passed with a large sled, on which
some bags of grain were piled. He stopped his oxen
with a flourish of the goadrand a storm of who — who-o-as,
while he held a little conversation.
" Tough teaming this I" he said. " Hard on young
cattle ; but somebody must go first. Any of the neigh-
bors dangerous out this way, doctor ?"
" No," answered the doctor, with a twinkle of the eye.
" Then what on arth brings you out ?"
" Wanted a ride, and thought perhaps I could hunt
tip a patient "
" Wai, now I shouldn't a thought it ! Which way are
you a going, if I may be so bold ?"
" Haven't decided. If you've got a copper in your
pocket, toss up. It's all the same to me."
The man took a new cent from his pocket, and bal-
ancing it on his thumb nail, he called out —
" Which'll ye have, doctor?"
"Heads."
Up flashed the cent into the sunshine, then down to
the teamster's feet, where it made a deep, round hole in
the snow.
" Heads it is, doctor," cried the man, fishing his coin
up in a handful of flakes.
" True enough ! then I will ride over the hill. That
toss up decides it."
180 THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
"You'll never get there, doctor; drifts over your
head."
The doctor was ploughing his waj' up the Bungy road,
and did not seem to hear this prediction. He was evi-
dently very anxious to go forward, and encouraged his
horse with sharp ejaculations, as they approached the
hills. The animal understood it all, and lending himself
to the work, stamped and pursued his way onward with
the perseverance of a veteran ; but his progress was
necessarily slow, and the doctor's broad forehead gath-
ered into an anxious frown under his cap.
" Poor thing — poor thing — she may be dead before we
get there," he muttered more than once, and then he
would commence expostulating with the horse, who,
good fellow, was doing his very best. Just as they were
ascending the brow of the hill, a woman was seen in
advance, wildly pushing her way through the snow.
She saw the doctor, and waved her arms in distracted
haste, beckoning him to come on.
The doctor must have been insane with anxiety to
have ventured on it. But he seized one of his crutches
and gave the horse a back-handed blow. A plunge that
almost unseated the imprudent man — a storm of snow
about his ears, and the animal broke into one of the
most extraordinary gaits that ever a horseman experi-
enced— backing down, rushing forward, and making side
movements that came very near landing the doctor head
foremost in a huge wave-like drift that covered the fence
close by to its topmost rail.
At last, with great coaxing and expostxilation, this
state of things was reduced to the most awkward attempt
at a trot, which the exasperated animal persisted in,
though his efforts were broken up at every other step.
THE VILLAGE DOCTOR. 181
The woman stood for a minute knee-deep in the snow.
She only ceased wringing her hands to beckon him for-
ward. When certain that he was doing his best, she
turned and walked quickly up the road, and entered
Mrs. Allen's house.
" I thought so — I feared it," muttered the doctor,
"but who ever saw riding like this ? It's like wading
through a desert of cotton wool. Don't you think so,
old fellow?"
The horse was indignant yet, and scorned to give any
sign that he understood those conciliatory tones, even
by a twinkle of the ear. On he scrambled, deeply injured
in his feelings, but resolved to do his duty, and leave
the rest on his master's conscience.
At last they reached the gate which led to Mrs. Allen's
house. With his crutches making deep holes in the
snow at every step, the doctor made for the door, which
was opened hurriedly, and Mrs. Allen stood pale as
death, with a wild light in her eyes, waiting for him to
coine in.
The door was closed, and only opened for a moment
for the pale, stern woman to come forth, with a blanket
in her arms, which she threw over the smoking horse,
and went in again.
Then a dead, heavy blank came upon the house, and
all that surrounded it. The horse fell into a doze under
his blanket. Not a living thing was in view, nothing
but the dreary white bosom of the earth, and a soft curl
of smoke that rose from the Thrasher homestead, which
was itself invisible, a little farther over the hill, though
the naked twigs of the poplar trees in front could be
seen against the sky. Once, the horse started, and
pointed his ears, as if some familiar sound had reached
182 THE VILLAGE DOCTOR.
him, but his head drooped again directly. The sound, if
any had troubled him, was so indistinct that he rejected
it as a delusion. When the doctor came out, it was
with a thoughtful, anxious look that seldom visited his
face. No one followed him to the door, and he sighed
heavily while climbing to his seat on the saddle.
On his way home the doctor met several persons, who
in the kind-hearted curiosity usual to the place, inquired
who was sick enough to call him out in such terrible
weather. He answered, with quizzical gravity, that he
had been to visit old Mr. Lane over the hill, a man of
ninety, who was suffering dreadfully with the whooping-
cough.
" The whooping-cough, and he full ninety — why I
never heard of such a thing," said one of the questioners ;
" I thought nothing but children ever had that disease."
" True enough ; but you forget that old Mr. Lane is
in his second childhood," answered the doctor.
The man's face brightened.
" Yes, yes," he said, " that accounts for it. I never
thought of the second childhood. Does the old chap
whoop much?"
" Awfully, awfully ! Good-day !" and the doctor rode
on, chuckling pleasantly to his horse ; but the gleam of
humor soon died from his features, and they grew
anxious again — so anxious, that you might have fancied
that his visit had been to a death-bed.
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING. 183
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING.
THE widow Allen sat by her kitchen fire, and a sterner,
sadder woman never drew breath than she appeared on
the day after that stormy visit from the doctor. She
was waiting for him now. Her eyes, full of sullen
thought, dwelt on the fire. Her feet were planted hard
on the hearth — every thing about her looked unyield-
ing and stiff — the high-backed chair, the full borders of
her cap, and the white kerchief folded over her bosom —
the very grief in her features seemed frozen there.
" Mother !"
This voice came from an inner room, the one which
Mrs. Allen had occupied during her sickness. Its faint
sweetness drew the old woman from her sombre mood.
She arose and entered the apartment where her daugh-
ter lay.
The room was dimly lighted, for besides the usual
blinds, a patch-work quilt, glowing with gorgeous colors,
had been stretched across the only window it contained.
As a great proportion of scarlet and green predomina-
ted in the quilt, it gave a richness to the atmosphere
somewhat like that which streams through stained glass
in a chancel window.
Katharine lay upon the bed among pillows, white as
the snow drifting outside, and with a pretty cap shading
her delicate features.
" Did you call, Katharine ?" questioned the mother,
in her clear, cold way.
184 THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING.
" Yes, mother ; my head begins to ache. A little
while ago I was cold, now hot flushes are running all
over me. Is this fever, do you think?"
The old woman lifted a corner of the quilt from over
the window, and looked in her daughter's face.
Katharine shrunk from the glance.
" Oh, mother, don't look at me so — it makes me trem-
ble 1"
Mrs. Allen dropped the quilt, and, ignoring the fears
of her child, answered to the first question,
" You are getting excited, but I think not feverish."
"Mother."
"Well, Katharine."
"I want — I wish — "
The poor thing made an effort to pull down the bed-
clothes, but her hand trembled so violently that she
could only make a faint signal before it fell.
The mother was touched. What woman, however ag-
grieved, would have resisted those mournful eyes ? She
went close to the bed, and turned down the blanket. A
babe lay sleeping on that young creature's bosom, its
little hand resting like a rose leaf, on her neck. A
cloud of soft, golden hair covered its head. Mrs. Al-
len turned her face away, but the magnetism of those
blue eyes drew it softly toward the child.
" You are its grandmother — and oh, tell me if I am
your child yet ?"
The young creature began to tremble as she uttered
these words. This disturbed the infant, and the grand-
mother found a pair of soft, dreamy eyes looking into
hers. The angels who guard little children may have
thrown a heavenly earnestness into the child's look ; I
do not know — but it touched that stern heart more than
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING. 185
the young mother's appeal had done. She stooped and
took the babe in her arms ; a thousand sweet, maternal
recollections rose in her bosom as she pillowed it there,
and laid her face against its velvet cheek.
Katharine smiled. " Mother, is it like me — like what
I was once ?"
" Yes."
The woman could not utter another word. When a
rock is cleft, the fragments half choke up the waters that
gush through them.
" Mother, my head troubles me, and I'm afraid if fever
comes I may lose my senses ; but I know every thing
now, and want you to believe me. All that I have told
you is true. It isn't because I am ashamed, but he will
be here in a few days — I am sure of that. It is now
more than three months, and he promised solemnly to
come by that time. This is why we must not say any
thing to the neighbors ; they might not credit me, you
know ; but when he is here, who will dare turn against
me ? You believe that we are married, dear mother ?"
" Yes, I believe it, Katharine."
" If I should be worse, you will find the paper in the
garret, between one of the rafters and the shingles.
Nobody must be allowed to say a word against this child
when I am dead."
" Nor against my child Avlrile I live !" answered Mrs.
Allen. " For this reason, it must be made known in the
neighborhood that you are that man's wife."
"Not quite yet. It will be time enough when some
one comes," pleaded the young creature. " Nelson may
be on the road now. The doctor won't tell, he promised
me."
She was getting excited with opposition ; her cheeks
were scarlet. The soft blue eyes began to glitter.
186 THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING.
"Promise, mother! It kills me to think what the
neighbors will say ; but when he comes, I shall be so
proud to take my baby in my arms — and — and — " She
broke off, and lifting one hand to her head, began waving
it to and fro.
Mrs. Allen saw that there was great danger in this
agitation, and attempted to soothe it.
" Promise not to tell ! promise not to tell 1" cried the
invalid, panting for breath, and moving restlessly on
her pillow.
" Yes, Katharine ; I promise not to say any thing for
a week at least."
" He will be here in a week ! he will be here in a
week."
Katharine kept whispering this over and over again,
until she fell asleep from pure exhaustion. It was some
time before the crimson flush left her face, or the quick
breath subsided to the calm respiration that followed ;
but at last she slept tranquilly as the infant which still
lay on its grandmother's bosom.
Mrs. Allen sat down by the kitchen fire. She could
not find it in her heart to put the babe away after its
little face had once touched her own. Seating herself
in the high-backed chair, she began rocking to and fro
— and as the love of that little child crept, like a per-
fume, to her heart, hatred to its father slowly disap-
peared, as a kingly essence destroys all evil odors. She
began to think how pleasant it would be to live in closer
connection with the good old couple over the hill, and
how much she had to be thankful for, that her daughter
was not, in fact, the outcast she had almost believed her.
As this spirit, of gratitude took possession of her heart,
she began to hum over a cradle song, which had almost
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING. 187
died out of her memory, and tender dews stole into her
eyes, of which she was quite unconscious, until the fire
began to look hazy under her stead}7 glance.
Our God uses little children as instruments of great
tenderness. They want no key to the hardest heart ;
but go in, without knocking, and nestle themselves like
birds in a strange nest, carrying gentleness and bless-
ings with them. So it was with this little mite of hu-
manity. In the helplessness of its animal life, it ap-
pealed to the stern woman's heart without challenging
the stubborn pride that nothing could conquer. So she
softened down, and from touching the little face, began
to kiss it, and finally converted her lap into a cradle and
commenced trotting the baby on her knees with the most
womanly gentleness.
The doctor found her in this condition when he came
in the afternoon. Katharine was still asleep, and the
two held a confidential talk on the hearth-stone, in which
the young creature's condition was thoroughly discussed.
When told of the great dread which the young mother
felt regarding any present publicit}7 being given to her
marriage, or the existence of the child, the doctor rather
sided with that view of the question.
" The truth is," he said, "we should have gossip and
questions, guesses and scandal, running through the
neighborhood like wildfire. Let the 3roung fellow come
back and settle the whole matter for himself. There is
no reason on earth why you should see company. Be-
sides, the state of the roads will keep everybody away."
" I never have much companj", and don't want any
just now ; as for explaining what "
" Is nobody's business ; why, it's just what you dis-
like, and the thought of it has, by your own account,
188 THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING.
driven the young creature half beside herself. Just let
the thing alone, Mrs. Allen ; where there is no one to
talk with, there is nothing to tell."
" I will neither seek my neighbors, nor withhold the
truth if they demand it of me," said the widow.
The doctor gathered up his crutches, with a show of
impatience, and muttered something not over compli-
mentary to the sea, and all that followed it.
His voice aroused the patient in the next room, who
called out :
" Who is there, mother ? Has he come ?"
The doctor stumped across the room, and stood bal-
anced on his crutches looking at her.
" Oh, is it you, doctor ?" she said, in a voice that
plainly spoke the disappointment that she felt.
" Well, it seems impossible to mistake myself for any-
body else, or I should deny being fool enough to come
this road twice."
" But you are here. It is very, very kind. You don't
know how much I feel it ; besides, I want to say some-
thing."
" Never mind, I know what it is ; have been talking
it over in the next room. Want to be quiet, natural ;
sick people always do. Hate to have a lot of old women
screeching over the baby, and asking questions enough
to drive a Christian mother into Bedlam — natural again,
why not? nuisance — women ought to be prohibited as
a sex by act of Congress — a few exceptions, no doubt ;
but patriotic women are ready to be flung overboard for
the general good."
Katharine looked a little bewildered, and quite weary.
She was thinking about her own troubles, and had not
strength enough for any thing else.
THE GRANDMOTHER RELENTING. 189
" Did any one ask you about us, doctor?"
"About you ? no — about where I was going, fifty."
"And you told them ?"
" Yes, of course I told 'em ; why not ?"
Katharine turned very white, and gasped for breath.
" You told them about me — about my baby ?"
" Bah child, no ; but I told 'em old Lane had caught
the whooping-cough, and that will keep the whole town
in gossip at least a week."
Katharine began to laugh— she was but a young
thing, and the idea amused her excessively.
" Stop that, or it'll end in hysterics," he said, frown-
ing upon her with comical affectation ; but she smiled
yet, and her pale cheek flushed. Still, the anxieties that
pressed upon her were too real, and she became grave
again.
" You wont say anything about it, please," she mur-
mured. " The minute he comes, they shall know every-
thing. I'm not very strong ; if it wasn't for that you
should read the certificate now ; but it's up-stairs, and
so we must wait."
" Never mind, my little Katy-did, I can wait, and so
shall the rest of them ; never fear."
" You're very good !" murmured Katharine, faintly ;
" I shall sleep without dreaming such frightful things
after this."
She closed her eyes a moment, and then opened them
with a start.
"Where's the baby?"
" In your mother's lap — don't you hear her buzzing
over it like a bumble bee ?"
" Is it — is that her?" whispered the young mother,
and a beautiful smile stole into her eyes. " I don't re-
member ever hearing her sing before."
190 A GRAVE IN THE SNOW.
" Oh, she'll soon break in — no fool like a grand-
mother."
" How pleasant it sounds," murmured the young
mother, listening to the low hum which came from the
next room, and ignoring the doctor's speech entirely.
" I didn't know mother's voice was so sweet. It makes
me sleepy."
" Then shut your eyes and go to dreaming at once ;
a good sleep will do you more good than I can," said
the doctor, wheeling round on his crutches, and stump-
ing off into the next room. Here he gave Mrs. Allen a
quaint reprimand for allowing her patient to put herself
into a fever, and warned her that the next excitement
might go to the brain and raise the mischief. Then he
chucked the baby under its mite of a chin, which the
little thing returned with an incipient hiccough instead
of a smile, which was altogether beyond its powers,
after which he mounted his horse and rode off, chuck-
ling over the mystifications which all questioners were
sure to get, on his way home.
CHAPTER XXV.
A GRAVE IN THE SNOW.
IT chanced, during the week, that another fall of snow
blocked up the roads just as they were getting well
trodden down. This kept the people in-doors, and Mrs.
Allen was left to the entire solitude she so much desired.
The doctor only came once after the visit we have men-
A QEAVE IX THE SNOW. 191
tioned. That time Mrs. Allen had been compelled to
leave the house. Her firewood was out, and she had
gone in search of a neighbor who had promised her to
haul a load from the forest back of Castle Rock. The
distance was considerable, and the walking toilsome,
beside the neighbor she sought had gone out after his
team and she was compelled to wait.
It was during her absence that the doctor went to the
house. He found Katharine improving ; still excitable
on the subject of her husband's return, and listening
for his step at every movement, but apparently so
happy with the growth of her child, that even this crav-
ing wish could not materially impede her well-doing.
The doctor had n tedious ride before him, and only
remained long enough to be sure that there was really
nothing to require his stay, and rode off. He was in
the more haste because dull, leaden clouds were gather-
ing in the sky, and fine snow came down at intervals,
threatening a heavier fall.
On his way down the hill he met the town carrier, a man
who distributed papers, and transported parcels for the
whole neighborhood, to and from New Haven, twice
each week. Sometimes he brought letters from the
post-office. Indeed, from a three cent whistle to a
dressed pig in killing time, he refused nothing that
came within the capacity of his one-horse wagon, or
could be sheltered \>y its oil-cloth cover. This man
nodded to the doctor, and after passing him, gave a
little blast from his tin horn to notify the next house
that he was about to stop there.
This house was Mrs. Allen's, Katharine was in her
room, and was ignorant that her mother had not re-
turned. She started up in bed at the first sound of the
horn, and cried out :
192 A GRAVE IN THE SNOW.
" Run, mother, run. It is the carrier, he may bring
news. Nelson has come passenger. I'm sure of it!"
The carrier drew up before the house, and waited a
minute for some one to come forth. But no one ap-
peareed, and with an impatient growl at the delay he
jumped out of his wagon, opened the street door, and
flung a letter through, muttering that he would call
for the postage some other time, a storm was coming
on, and he was late already.
Katharine saw the letter, gave a cry of joy, such as
those humble walls never heard again, and sprang to
the floor, leaving her child asleep in the bed. She
seized the letter and tore it open ; three or four bank
notes fluttered around her, falling unheeded, about the
room. She strove to read, but the paper rattled in her
hands — dizzy and weak she could not distinguish a
word of the few that danced before her eyes. She went
back to the bed, seized one of the posts of the bedstead,
and steadied herself desperately.
" Katharine, it cannot be helped, I am going on a
whaling voyage ; nothing better presented itself, and I
must not be idle. The ship will be gone three years at
least, perhaps more, but there is a chance for making
money. I send you all that has been advanced to me ;
when that is gone go to my father, as I told you,
"NELSON THRASHER."
She grew blind. A dull, sickening weight fell upon
her. She strove to creep into bed, clambered to the
edge upon her knees, and fell forward, with her face
pressed to the pillow, which settled slowly down, and
buried the sleeping child — a struggle — a faint, stifled
sound — a scarcely perceptible upheaving of the pillow,
and all was still.
A GRAVE IN THE SNOW. 193
There was no change in the mother ; white as marble,
she had fallen upon her face — lifeless as marble she
lay until th'e great clock in the kitchen tolled the hour.
The struggle of her coming misery was terrible. She
turned and sat upon the bed, with her white feet hang-
ing over the edge. The shawl which Mrs. Allen had
folded over her shoulders from fear of cold, hung loosely
adown her Long night robe. She began to shiver, and
drew it around her, hugging it to her bosom, but some
idea of its emptiness seized upon her. She opened the
shawl and looked down upon her flowing night dress
wonderingly, as if she had lost something. Then her
eyes were turned vaguely around the bed. She lifted a
corner of the blanket, and finding nothing, impatiently
pushed the pillow aside.
There it lay — her little babe, asleep, and yet not
asleep. Insane fire flashed to her eyes ; fever leaped,
and burned in all her veins ; angry defiance blazed in
her face. She was stunned before, but maddened now.
Somebody had been trying to kill her babe with too
much warmth. Her mother had done it. Her stern
mother, who never would forgive, and had always hated
the Thrasher blood. She would come back and try
again. How flushed and hot its little face looked. How
menacingly its tiny fist was clenched. Something very
cruel must have been done before it came to that. How
soundly she had slept to know nothing of this. But
her mother should never harm it again. She knew of a
nice cool place under the great butternut where it could
have a beautiful blanket of snow, with light icicles
shimmering over it from the branches. Nobody could
find it there, and that strange look of pain would change
to quiet sleep.
12
194 A GRAVE IN THE SNOW.
Prompted by these insane thoughts, the young
mother seized her child, folded it closely to her bosom,
under the shawl, and fled from the house. She hurried
on, her white feet sinking in the snow at every step.
The crust cut her ankles, but she was unaware of the
pain. The wind whistled through her night dress, but
she only laughed — its sharpness would drive that terri-
ble red from her baby's face. She clambered the stone
wall twice, into the orchard, and across another lot, un-
til she reached the rock beneath the butternut branches,
now without a leaf.
A shelf of the rock shot out from the drift that almost
buried it. She took off her shawl, wrapped it tenderly
about the child, laid it on this shelf, and began to work.
She tore the glittering crust away, fell upon her knees,
and commenced hurling the loose snow out with her
hands, until a cradle was scooped in the drift. Then
she gathered up an armful of the flakes, moulded and
patted them into a pillow, and hushing the baby in her
arms a moment, laid it down. She covered it with a
soft blanket of snow, placed the icy crust carefully over
it, and then stopped, and looked about bewildered, as
if wondering what she could do next.
By this time the cold had pierced her to the vitals,
but the fever met it fiercely and shook that delicate form
like a reed. She sat down on the rock, gazing at the little
white grave, as if she had just buried her heart there;
and was afraid that some one would trample on it. The
cold was doing its work ; a few moments more and she
would never have left the rock again. But some imagin-
ary noise frightened her. She started up, forgot every
thing, and flew toward the house — the light hair floating
back from under her cap, and her thin garments flutter-
I
THE BUTTERNUT TREE. 195
ing through the atmosphere like shadows. The door
was partly open — she darted in, crossed the kitchen,
and springing to the centre of her bed, covered herself
up with the clothes, shuddering and laughing in the
same breath.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A CROWD UNDER THE BUTTERNUT TREE.
AT last the old woman came in. With the sly in-
stincts of insanity, Katharine lay still, holding the
blankets over her head, pretending to be asleep.
The old lady did not attempt to disturb her, but
merely looked in to see that all was quiet, and went to
the kitchen. To her surprise, she found the outer door
open. The wind had swept in, scattering snow and
ashes over the floor. This had produced a draught
down the wide-mouthed chimney, and filled the room
with smoke. Mrs. Allen threw up a sash, which pro-
duced an eddy of wind and sent some loose papers fly-
ing toward the hearth — one, which seemed to be a let-
ter, floated by her and was drawn up the chimney,
catching fire as it went ; another was following, but she
grasped it in time, and found that the flimsy bit of
silk paper was a bank bill of considerable amount.
Two others she picked up from the floor.
Who could have been in her house ? How was it pos-
sible for so much money to have found its way there ?
She went into the bedroom, resolved to question Katha-
196 THEBUTTERNUT TREE.
rine, who heard her coming, and crouched under the
bedclothes.
" Katharine ! Katharine !"
No answer.
The old lady, fearing she scarcely knew what, went
up to the bed and turned down the clothes. There was
a little resistance, and then Katharine looked up with a
frightened smile, trembling terribly either with dread or
cold.
" Who has been here since I went away, Katharine ?"
"I don't know."
" But look ! Where did all this money come from ?"
"I don't know."
And, indeed, she did not know, never having taken a
thought of that portion of Thrasher's letter ; even the
epistle itself only whirled through the chaos of her mind,
like dead leaves in a tempest.
Mrs. Allen examined the money again, while Katha-
rine eyed her with the sharp cunning of insanity.
" How you shake, child ? The open door has given
you a chill."
"It was too warm! too warm!" muttered the poor
creature ; " crimson hot, crimson hot !"
Mrs. Allen was so surprised with the money that she
did not heed the strange murmur of her daughter. She
put the bills away in an old teapot in the corner cup-
board. Then something struck her as unnatural in the
stillness of the room, and she went back again.
" Is the baby asleep yet ?" she inquired, sitting down
by the bed.
Katharine shrunk away from her ; but answered in a
quick, eager way :
"Yes; it sleeps sweetly, sweetly, sweetly."
THE BUTTERNUT TREE. 197
This strange repetition of one word drew Mrs. Allen's
attention more closely to the invalid. There was some-
thing strange in her face — a gleam of vigilant cunning
in the eyes that made the mother anxious.
" How soundly the little, thing sleeps," she said.
" Yes, soundly," was the answer.
" Move a little, and let me take it up."
"No!"
A look of defiance came into that beautiful face.
Katharine was resolved to defend her secret to the last
moment.
Mrs. Allen became frightened ; forced the bedclothes
from that feeble grasp, and stooped down to search for
the child.
It was gone !
" Where — oh, Katharine — where is the baby ?"
A gleam of infinite craft stole into those blue eyes.
"What baby?"
" Yours, yours — our own little child ! who has taken
it away ?"
"Nobody."
" Then where is it ?"
"Asleep ; didn't I tell you so ?"
Mrs. Allen rushed into the kitchen and searched it in
every corner. The smoke had cleared away, and she
discovered tracks of a small, naked foot in the loose
snow that had drifted into the room. Where was the
child ? what could have happened ? Mrs. Allen rushed
distractedly into the street, just as the neighbor whom
she had been in search of drove up with a load of wood
on his sled.
"Hello! what's the matter, Mrs. Allen?" he called
out, as she came toward the gate, pale as death, and
wringing her hands.
198 THE BUTTERNUT TREE.
" Our baby — my little grandchild — it is gone !"
The man stopped and emitted a low whistle.
" So there was something in all that talk," he mut-
tered, "hard as I stood up for her."
" I only left to run down to your house — we hadn't
another armful of wood. When I came back, the out-
door was open, the room full of smoke, and she all alone 1
Oh, God help me, what can I do !"
" Just go into the house, and let us talk it all over,"
said the kind-hearted farmer, leaving his oxen ; "I don't
understand."
" Oh, we cannot stop to talk — the child must be found.
Isn't that Mr. Stokes coming up the hill ? Call him—
we must search — we must find it."
The farmer called out for Mr. Stokes to hurry forward,
and at the same time ran to meet him. The two men
stood talking together some minutes, then came toward
the house in company.
Mrs. Allen had gone back to her daughter, and with
tears raining down her face, was pleading with her.
Poor woman ! it was many years since she had cried
like that, but when an infant comes to a lonely house,
the fountain of tears is sure to swell afresh in the most
stern bosom. The sweet word, " grandmother," had
been applied to her. The baby's little heart had stirred
against her own ; without that child, all the stern deso-
lation of her life would come back again.
But Katharine could not answer.
The two men came in, looking curious and excited ;
their presence seemed to strike Katharine dumb. She
lay with her eyes wide open, staring at them. A vague
smile wandered on her lips as they questioned her, but
no words.
THE BUTTERNUT TREE.
Baffled and still anxious, the men went into the
kitchen again, leaving Mrs. Allen behind. They saw
the tracks still imprinted on the floor, and followed
them with keen observation. The tracks continued out
into the yard, turned there, and led toward the orchard.
One naked footprint was stamped on the top of the
stone wall, as if a leap had pressed it deeply there.
After this there was little trouble — broken places in the
snow crust led them on till they stood by the rock
under the butternut tree.
It is strange how soon a crowd will collect, if any
thing unusual is going on, even in the remotest places.
A good many people were on the road, some going to
the stores at Chewstown or Falls Hill, some taking grists
to mill, and others loitering on their way to the tavern,
whose red sign swung on the river road a little beyond
Rock Spring.
Before the two men, who tracked that terrible path,
had touched the little white grave by the rock, some
half-dozen persons had collected around it. A feeling
of awe kept the first comers from touching the broken
snow-crust ; but now, a man in the crowd thrust it aside
with his foot, and the rest set to work.
It took but little time to remove the white covering
beneath, and, after a moment's work, the dead infant
was found wrapped in a shawl, which was recognized
by more than one present as belonging to Katharine
Allen.
A feeling of profound consternation fell upon the
little group of farmers, as they lifted the infant from its
grave. The face, now pale and cold, was all uncovered,
flakes of snow trembled in the golden hair, and the
winds blew over it so sharply, that one of the men put
200 THE BUTTERNUT TREE.
forth his hand, and drew the shawl softly over its head,
muttering, " God forgive its mother I"
No funeral ever was marked with more solemn faces
than those which followed the dead infant back to the
house. No word was spoken aloud, but hoarse whispers
passed from lip to lip, and the hardiest man there
shrunk from carrying that mournful burden into the
presence of its grandmother.
A terrible presentiment of the truth had fallen upon
the old woman. She had failed to win any thing from
her daughter, and, with a sinking heart, listened to the
men crunching the snow under their feet, as they went
toward the orchard. For the world she could not have
gone to the door or remained upright upon her feet. The
old high-back chair stood on the hearth ; she sat down.
The fire flamed up and flickered over her white features.
Those little tracks upon the floor fascinated her gaze.
They melted and run into each other, taking uncouth
shapes, but, in her eyes, there had been no change.
These two little footprints, in disappearing from the
floor, seemed to burn themselves into her heart.
She sat still listening, but there was no sound except
the soughing of the wind among the naked apple trees.
Katharine lay still in her bed, exulting in the safety
which she had secured for her child, but craftily silent
lest some one should find out her secret. Filled with
this idea she held her breath, as if that would betray
her
Thus the stillness was profound. There was no con-
fusion in the woman's mind now. Her quick, clear in-
tellect had seized upon the broad facts of the case. She
struggled against them, but the child was gone, and
those footprints on the floor were obliterating, but not
THE SAILOR. 201
dried out. After a time she heard a strange sound in
the road — the heavy tramp of feet, followed by sup-
pressed voices near the gate. With a prayer to God
she arose, walked to the door, cast it wide open, and
stood on the threshold with her arms extended. It was
like laying a dead child into a dead woman's bosom
when the man placed his burden in those arms.
CHAPTER XXYII.
THE SAILOR AND HIS TWO COMPANIONS.
IN one of those common hotels, frequented by the
better class of seamen who enter New York, David
Rice had taken up his quarters, accompanied by little
Paul and Jube. With the bravery of a Nelson, he had
carried the disabled brig safely into a Southern port,
with her cargo all safe ; an act of heroism that had se-
cured the warmest approbation of her owners, and what
was far better, an appointment to the command of the
craft he had saved.
While the repairs were going on, David, exultant and
happy, had proceeded with his two friends to the com-
mercial emporium, where he became sadly puzzled what
course to take next, for two more simple hearted and
helpless creatures never existed.
" Now," said David, going into a select committee of
one on the subject ; " now when a chap saves the life of
another chap, big or little, and turns his face about
from a long voyage, where all is provided for, he's in
202 THE SAILOR.
duty bound to adopt that other chap, and take good
care of him so long as he can't take care of himself.
Now that's just your case, David Rice. What on arth
can these poor critters do without you ? Nothing —
that's sartin. What can you do for them ? — there's the
puzzler. As for work, the nigger is strong as a lion ;
but he's used to hot weather, and a cold snap curls him
right up. As for the boy — poor little soul — no Yankee
baby was ever half so helpless ; and yet, how brave the
little chap is ! What am I to do with 'em ? They can't
live here when I'm away to sea; and as for working,
why the nigger himself hasn't the least idee what work
means!"
This consultation was held in English, while its objects
sat close together, looking at the sailor as he laid down
the case and expostulated with himself, pro and con,
with considerable energy.
" Jube," he said, in broken French, feeling in sad want
of counsel, " Jube, what do you say to living in the
country?"
" Oh, anywhere Jube is ready to live — anywhere that
little masser and you like !" cried the negro, eagerly.
" Well, say in a nice, cosy place up in Connecticut,
with plenty of chores to do, and no hard work."
" Yes, masser Rice," said Jube, attempting English.
" Then, our little Paul, he ought to go to school —
capital district school on Shrub Oak — beautiful red
school-house, with the turnpike running in front, and a
river back of it. You can hear the water sing all clay
long, behind the hemlock bushes. Besides, there's an
apple tree at one end that bears splendid green apples,
and a bell pear tree, that the scholars are forbid to look
at. Then — keep that to yourself Paul, no one but Kate
THE SAILOR. 203
ever found it out — but, there's a hollow at one end of
the school-house, and the banks are covered with straw-
berry vines, white in the spring, and red all under the
grass where the sun has shined on 'em long enough —
sich strawberries, plump as a baby's mouth, and sweet
as its kisses. What do you think of that, Paul ?"
The little fellow did not quite comprehend what Rice
was talking about, but the subject seemed a pleasant
one, so he replied, in broken English, that he should
like it very much indeed.
" Yes," said Dave, kindling into enthusiasm by a re-
membrance of his own school days, brief as they had
been, and spent in a much less pleasant place than the
one he described. " Yes, I kinder see you now, with
yer dinner basket on one arm — the squaws, back of
Chewstown, make scrumptious little baskets, now I tell
yer — and Webster's blue-covered spelling book under
t'other, a marching off to that ere seat of laming Which
I've been telling you about. The picter is so enticing
that I'm in a hurry to begin. Have you ever been to
school?"
The boy looked at Jube in doubt what to answer.
" District school, I mean," said Dave, with a flourish
of the hand. " Where the master or mistress boards
about, and ferrules the children with a pine ruler, if
they don't toe a crack every spelling time."
" No," said Paul, meekly, " I never did."
" Nor you nuther, Jube ?"
Jube opened his great eyes in wonder at the question.
It seemed too astonishing for any other reply.
" Then you hain't neither of you got a bit of laming ?"
continued Rice, patronizingly, " can't read nor write, I
reckon."
20-i THE SAILOR.
Paul understood this, and brightened up.
" Oh, yes, Monsieur Rice, I read and* write, and do
much things in French. All my life the tutor has
taught me how."
" You can, eh ! then jist show us what kind of a fist
you make of it. Hallo, here, waiter, bring up pen and
ink, with some paper. I want to see how far this little
chap has got along in his eddecation."
The orders were obeyed, and Paul sat down to the
rickety table, smiling as he began to write. Rice stood
with his feet wide apart and a hand in each pocket,
looking over the boy's shoulder.
" By jingo, you write like a lady !" he cried, filled
with exultation ; " and hain't never been to school ! it's
'stonishing. Now let me hear you spell. We'll skip
over the abs, and plunge right into deep laming at once.
Now spell Baker."
Rice plunged his hands deeper into both pockets and
shook himself like a mastiff, satisfied that the boy had
got a puzzler now. And so he had, for it was his first
effort at English, and the word, as he tried to syllable it,
was so sweetly broken that Dave shook his head.
"Isn't it right?" inquired Paul, anxiously.
" Well, no, not exactly ; but don't be down-hearted.
It's a tough word. I remember studying it over and
over again. So keep a stiff upper lip."
" But I shall learn English ?" said Paul.
" In course you shall. There's a seat in Shrub Oak
school-house waiting for you now — the very one sister
Kate used to set in, bless her purty face — won't she knit
woollen comforters for you. The old woman, too. I
say, look a here, shaver, you never saw such a home as
you'll find with my women folks. No skim milk about
them, now I tell you."
THE SAILOR. 205
"Is there good fire," inquired Jube, shivering with
the cold, though a bright blaze flamed on the hearth.
" A good fire ? Well I should think so — back logs as
big as porpoises, and fore sticks to match, trust the old
woman for that."
Jube rubbed his hands, and displayed the edge of his
firm, white teeth in a satisfied smile. Warmth was the
thing he pined for just then.
" Now that it's settled, supposing we go out and get
some good thick clothes for the shaver, Jube ; them silk
stockings and finefied shoes aint the thing, though you
do wash and brush them when he's asleep. We must
have socks and boots, and a good thick overcoat, with
a seal-skin cap that turns down at the ears, and yarn
mittins. But them, the old woman will knit, striped
two and two, with red and white fringe around the
wrist — don't I remember the pattern. Come, old chap,
it aint far from here to Catharine street, we'll soon have
a full rig."
Of course Jube made no objection ; indeed, such was
his devotion to Rice, that it is doubtful if he would have
resisted any behest of his. They went out, looking
weather-beaten and shabby enough, shivering with cold,
and sallow from the privation of a hard sea voyage.
But after a visit first to a barber's shop, and next to a
clothing store, the whole aspect of things was changed.
Little Paul came forth in a fur cap and an overcoat, so
heavy and thick that even his movements, usually grace-
ful as an antelope's, became a little awkward. Jube
was also warmly clad, and muffled in a comforter, striped
with red, green, and yellow, which had won his extremest
admiration.
After providing for the comfort of his friends in this
206 THE SAILOR.
way, Rice took them to one of the East river wharves,
where a sloop, bound for the mouth of the Housatonic,
lay waiting for passengers, and placed them in charge
of the captain. Both Paul and Jube had learned a little
broken English by this time, upon which Rice depended
greatly. Besides, he sent a letter to his mother, beseech-
ing her to receive his friends and preservers, as he
named them, in her own house, and treat them as if
Jube were his brother, and the boy his son — an adopted
son, in every sense of the word, he certainly was. In
a few crude lines he gave his mother to understand how
helpless the child was, and how manfully the African
had stood by him when deserted on the disabled brig,
and ended by promising to come home before the vessel
sailed again.
With this letter Rice gave Jube some gold pieces,
which made the negro's eyes sparkle, for he recognized
them as the coin circulated in his own country. Thus
having provided for his friends, Rice took his way back
to the disabled ship, and the sloop spread its white
wings up the sound.
The deep snow, the skeleton trees, and scattering
evergreens that lined the banks of the Housatonic,
struck our poor fugitives from the tropics with a sense
of absolute desolation. But the captain was kind, and
this stood in place of sunshine and warmth with them.
At the head of navigation, which brought the sloop to
the mouth of the Naugatuc, the captain sent them for-
ward with a return team, which, having deposited its
load of produce, was ready to proceed up the river
road, which led from Darby to the long wooden bridge
below the falls.
OUT OF HER DELIRIUM. 207
CHAPTER XXVIII.
OUT OP HER DELIRIUM.
ALAS! it was an unhappy house. Poor Katharine I
when the dead child was brought to her, wrapped in the
gorgeous shawl which had been her brother's gift, she
uttered a low wail, so prolonged and mournful that it
never left the memory of those who heard it. As the
moan died on her lips, it seemed to carry her life with
it, for she fell into a state of dumb apathy, and lay for
hours together gazing on the wall without a sign of
animation. Then she would mutter, in a low, terrified
voice, " They have found it, they have found it."
The magistrates came to the house and examined the
evidences of the case, but she took no heed of them.
The doctor was summoned, but his opinion, as far as
it went, was all against the probabilities of a natural
death. He made every exertion in his power to win the
poor mother to a state of consciousness, but all in vain ;
she only looked in his face and muttered, " They have
found it, they have found it."
Mrs. Allen was called forward. She had grown old
since the day before. The hair on her temples was
white as frost now, and her figure stooped, as if some
ponderous weight had been laid upon it. Yet the old
woman was calm and still. Had the truth struck her
dead at the magistrates' feet, she would, nevertheless,
have spoken it. Her old neighbors knew this, and re-
frained from pressing her too far. It would be hard
enough, thev whispered in consultation, when she was
208 OUT OF HER DELIRIUM.
brought into court ; why should they torture her when
the evidence was so conclusive.
So the magistrates sat all day with the dead infant
lying in its little coffin on the table before them, delib-
erating solemnly together ; while that poor mother in
the next room, harassed and demented, lay with her
face turned to the wall, muttering beneath her breath,
" They have found it, they have found it."
Mrs. Allen sat on the hearth in her own high-backed
chair, gazing with heavy eyes on the magistrates. She
was chilled and shocked to the soul. The stiff pride
of her nature was broken in twain, leaving her body
bent, and her soul inert. Still, such is the indomitable
power of household routine, in a woman of New Eng-
land, that she replenished the fire from time to time,
and prepared drink for the poor creature in the next
room. But no food appeared in that dwelling during
forty -eight hours. The cow moaned in its stable from
the pain of its abundant milk, and the pigs, in a pen
back of the house, thrust their noses between the boards
and begged for food, with uncouth noises that pene-
trated into the house without arousing the mistress. A
flock of hens huddled about the door, pecking at each
other and raking up the snow with their claws.
All this made no impression on the woman. When
the ashes grew deep in the fireplace she mechanically
shovelled them behind the back log and sat down again,
unconscious of the act ; when a stick of wood broke into
brands on each side the andirons, she lifted the massive
tongs and placed them in the midst of the fire again,
but with this action her soul had no part ; that seemed
dead within her.
At last the magistrates brought in their verdict.
• OUT OF HER DELIRIUM. 209
TJie infant had been murdered by its mother, and she
Was bound over for trial at the county court.
Mrs. Allen drew a deep breath when the verdict was
announced, and that was all the sign she gave. The
magistrates retired, leaving the house in charge of the
constable. From that hour Katharine Allen was a
prisoner and under arrest. Poor soul, she knew nothing
about it. The officers walked in and out of her room,
but she neither spoke nor looked at them. They
stooped over the bed and questioned her persistently,
but she took no heed ; a regiment might have tramped
through that little room and she would not have known it.
All that night Mrs. Allen sat by the little coffin in
which the babe lay smiling in its eternal sleep. Nothing
but the form of a guard was wanted for those two help-
less women, so the man left in charge fell asleep upon
the hearth, with his head bowed forward and his feet
extended. Thus the night wore on. The grandmother
never closed her eyes, and scarcely moved, but a dead
numbness was closing around her heart ; she began to
feel the terrible position in which her child was placed
— to feel that the beautiful babe which had crept into
her heart, awaking all its pristine tenderness, was
nothing but cold death.
As these thoughts crowded to her mind, a world of
anguish gathered over that old face, 'till every feature
quivered with awakening pain.
As if the anguish of this strong woman had struck
some electric spark in the bosom of her child, a faint
moan was heard in the next room. But that gray head
had fallen forward, and the face was buried in her locked
hands. The old woman was trying to pray. But she
could not even send up a moan to the Almighty. For
13
210 OUT OF HER DELIRIUM.
that moment she had no faith. The anguish of a great
trouble was upon her which shook her whole being ; but
the tenderness that leads to prayer had not yet de-
scended upon her grief.
Under these awakening feelings, she began to be sen-
sible of all the gloomy surroundings that had helped to
oppress her. The tallow candle upon the table was sur-
mounted by a long wick with a death blossom trembling
at the top, which smothered half its feeble light. Thus
the little coffin was filled with shadows, through which
the white face gleamed mournfully.
Mrs. Allen was all alone. The officer sat sleeping
soundly in his chair — the young mother lay insensible
in the next room. The old woman was, nevertheless,
alone, for such companionship was an added misery.
She could not endure to sit still with that mournful
little face reproaching her from its coffin for its mother's
sin ; for, as yet, its death took that shape in her mind.
She had no courage to get up and search for the snuffers,
wherewith that ill-omened crest could be separated from
the ungainly wick. An empty cradle stood in one cor-
ner of the room. She took the coffin in her arms, and
sat it reverently into this cradle, spreading the patch-
work coverlet over it, thus removing the pale reality of
death from her sight. This done, she sat down by the
table, and let the candle smoke on, indifferent to what
it revealed, so long as the thing was not death.
It is possible that she may have dropped to sleep after
this, for nature was sinking within her ; certain it is, her
face fell upon the locked hands, while profound quiet
reigned for a little time throughout that miserable
dwelling.
While her face was bowed thus, a frail figure, clad in
OUT OF HER DELIRIUM. 211
white drapery from head to foot, came out of the bed-
room and glided up to the table. She wavered in her
walk, and leaned both hands on the table, or she must
have undoubtedly fallen, in feeble helplessness, to the
ground.
Mrs. Allen looked up and saw her daughter, worn and
trembling, gazing wistfully upon her.
" Mother, what have you done with it ? Who has
taken my baby away ?"
The voice was sweet, but troubled ; the face innocent
as an angel's.
" Katharine, oh, Katharine 1"
It was all the poor woman could say ; but the first
gleam of hope shot athwart that gloomy face and thrilled
through the voice. From that moment the mother felt
that her child was innocent.
" Oh, Katharine, my child ! my poor, poor child 1"
She held out her arms, while great tears rained down
her cheeks.
Katharine tottered around the table, and falling on
her knees, leaned heavily on the mother's lap, lifting her
face full of wistful tenderness to the troubled counten-
ance bent over her.
" Tell me what you did with it, mother."
Mrs. Allen trembled under the wistful earnestness of
those pleading eyes. She had no power of speech in
her voice. It was choked up with sorrow for her daugh-
ter's inevitable anguish, with thanksgiving that she was
innocent. With a tenderness which is the gift of true
Christianity, link it with the sternest nature you may,
she reached forth her arms and gathered the young thing
to her bosom.
" Do tell me, mother, what you have done with my
baby ?"
212 OUT OF HER DELIRIUM.
"Rest a little, my child. That's right — keep your
arms around me. How weak you are ; and it is cold.
Shall I carry you back to bed, my poor darling ?"
" When you have told me. I want the baby, mother ;
my heart aches for it ; my bosom is full of pain. If we
only had it here between us, mother. Do, do tell me
where it is ?"
Mrs. Allen bent her face and kissed her.
" Isn't it pleasant to kiss one's own child, mother ? I
never thought what a comfort it was to you before."
Mrs. Allen could not answer ; she only bent her with-
ered cheek to the sweet face on her bosom, and sighed
heavily.
" Come, mother."
"One minute, Katharine."
" What is that, mother ?"
Katharine had heard the deep breathing of her guard,
and turned her startled face toward him.
"It is a neighbor come to stay with us."
" What ! in the night, mother ! Why don't he go to
bed, then ?"
"No one has slept in this house for two nights," an-
swered the mother, sorrowfully.
Katharine started, and began to tremble.
" Why did you sit up ? Was my baby sick ?"
Mrs. Allen folded her child closer, but said nothing.
"You won't tell me, mother."
"I— I cannot."
Katharine broke from her mother's arms, and stood
up, white as- death.
" Is my baby dead, mother ?"
"Yes."
Before it left the woman's lips, Katharine had ad-
OUT OF HER DELIRIUM. 213
vanced to the cradle, and drawn away the coverlet.
She saw what is concealed — the little coffin and her child'
lying coldly within it. Without a word or even a quick
breath, she sank down like an image of snow which
the sun has touched.
Another morning, and the stillness of death fell upon
that house. While the young mother lay bereft of all
strength, and scarcely alive, but with a guard of strong
men at her door, the infant was carried out and rev-
erently buried. No mourners followed it. The old
woman watched by the living mother, not with the
leaden despair of former days, but with calm resigna-
tion, which deepened into pathetic tenderness, whenever
she approached the sufferer.
Katharine had whispered a request to see her babe
before it was carried forth. It was brought to her bed-
side, for those who condemned her as guilty had some
compassion on her youth. It was like a shadow passing
near her, a pale, wan shadow, which would forever float
before her vision, but was devoid of positive reality
then. She had no idea of the way of its death, and suf-
fered like any other bereaved parent, who sees the first
child of love carried away after it has been folded
close to the yearning heart that gave it life.
So the funeral went forth, the saddest of many years,
and wound its solemn way through the snow-trodden
streets down to the graveyard, which gave its white
stones to the sunlight on Falls Hill. The shadow of
the church steeple lay softly upon the snow as the
funeral passed in, and when the tiny grave was closed,
and all was white and pure as the clouds of heaven
above, the broad Naugatuc sweeping toward its falls
below the hill, seemed chiming a solemn requiem. Then
214 STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
the crowd dispersed in groups, whispering with awe
over the terrible crime which no one seemed to doubt,
and all regretted. A few thoughtless girls there might
have been, who spoke recklessly of the sin and disgrace
which had fallen upon their lovely schoolmate, but a
feeling of compassion predominated, and even those
who came to that little grave condemning the mother,
went away subdued and doubting. Gossip there cer-
tainly was — what country village ever existed without
that? — but Katharine's fault was far too serious for
light comment. Even strong men held their breadth
when the penalty of death was mentioned in connection
with that helpless girl.
CHAPTER XXIX.
STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
I HAVE forgotten one circumstance which happened
that morning. Just as the funeral was turning from
the highway toward the gravejrard, a colored man and a
young boy, both of foreign appearence, came up the hill
from the bridge, where one of the river sleighs had set
them down. After standing for a moment watching the
procession with curiosity, they walked reverently after
it, looking very sad, as if trouble were familiar to them.
The negro led the boy by the hand, and both stood
apart from the crowd while the funeral sendee was read.
It was remarked that the negro seemed greatly dis-
turbed as he looked upon the grave, and that his eyes
STRANGER'S IN THE VILLAGE. 215
filled with tears when he turned them on the serious
face of the boy. Poor fellow ! he was thinking of
another funeral, where orange blossoms perfumed the
air, and hosts of wild flowers brightened the turf which
was laid above the dead.
When the ceremony was over, and the people began
to disperse, Jube approached a little group of* men who
lingered "by the gate, and inquired, in very imperfect
English, if some one would show him the way to a place
called Bungy, and if a widow lady by the name of
Allen did not live there.
This was a new source of excitement. The foreign look
and broken language peculiar to the strangers, were some-
thing to be wondered at and talked over, even at this
solemn hour. The men drew away from the neighbor-
hood of the bury ing-ground before they indulged in the
curiosity which was consuming them, and for once
answered a question directly, without asking another in
the same breath, an instance of forbearance deserving
of honorable record in these pages. But the moment
they reached the road the awe of the place left them,
and the direct examination of poor Jube commenced.
Mrs. Allen — of course everybody knew the widow
Allen, and no wonder, after that funeral ; but what did
the stranger want of her — wanted to hire out, perhaps.
Jube did not know what hiring out meant, and answered
vaguely that perhaps he did, but wasn't quite certain.
This rather excited curiosity. What if this black
fellow should prove to know something about the murder,
or, at any rate, of the person who had led poor Katha-
rine Allen into all this trouble. This idea whetted the
questions that were let loose on the travellers, till both
the negro and boy were thoroughly bewildered.
216 STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
" Mebbe you're acquainted with Mrs. Allen — knew her
afore she moved here, I dare say 1" suggested a farmer
from over the hill.
Jube shook his head, more to express his incapacity
to understand than as a negative to the question.
" No ; that's sort o' strange ; but then, perhaps, you're
related to some of the colored people hereabouts ?"
" No, agin ; stranger and stranger yet — not know Mrs.
"Allen, nor any of the colored population of this neigh-
borhood. Then jist excuse me if I ask who on arth you
are acquainted with ?"
" We know Mr. Rice, the widow lady's son," answered
Paul, in his sweet, broken language, and lifting a face
to the stranger that softened every feature of his rough
visage.
" You know David Rice, my little shaver ! "Wall, we
reckon not, for he was drowned three months or more
ago. "Wrecked at sea. Captain Thrasher e'nmost saw
him go down."
" It was on that ship we with him ! Jube he help
him bring her into port 1" cried the boy, his great,
velvety eyes filling with light as he lifted them exult-
ingly to the negro.
The story of two persons — a negro and a boy — having
insisted on sharing the fate of David Rice, on the disa-
bled vessel, had gone the rounds of the village, and a
general burst of surprise followed the boy's speech.
" Now, you don't say so I You the little shaver that
sot right down by Dave Rice on that deck, and woiildn't
get up on no consideration !" cried one. " Wall, now,
how things du turn out. I couldn't a believed it, and
sich a slender little critter, too ; I swan to man, it beats
all 1"
STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE. 217
Paul understood that the man was praising him for
something, and in his modest innocence strove to set
him right.
" No, no, no ; not me ; I am very little boy, very weak,
and so small. I only eat great deal, and drink water,
when Jube wanted it very much to keep him strong. It
was Jube, my Jube, that helped save the ship. I wish
you could see how him swing the pump handle — all the
time, daylight and dark, no matter, Jube work, work,
work, I no I"
The farmer who had been the most ardent spokesman,
stepped forth now, reaching out his hands.
" I say, cuffy, give us yer hand. If you're the feller
that stood by Rice when he hadn't a chance left, I'm
proud to know ye. If you raly did bring him safe
ashore — well, by golly, if I aint e'enamost a crying 1
Now, you don't say that Dave Rice is alive ?"
" Left him much well in New York two days ago ; me
and Jube," answered the boy, smiling at the farmer's
enthusiasm.
" Yes, little masser."
"Master! Now, you don't mean tu say that this
little black-eyed shaver is your master, in earnest,
cuffy ?"
"Yes," said Jube, showing every white tooth in his
head. " Reckon little masser won't say no 1"
"And you're his slave — a rale, downright sarvant, ha ?"
" Yes ; that's it 1" answered Jube, with another happy
laugh. " Little masser hasn't none but me now."
" You don't say so !"
" But we both owned to Captain Rice, now. Jube,
you not forgot that," said Paul, earnestly.
" What's that you're a saying ! Dave Rice a bringing
218 STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
home slaves into old Connecticut, and one uv 'ein e'ena-
most white ! I say, neighbors, what will the selectmen
say to that ?"
Instantly there was a season of whispered and eager
consultation. With all their joy over the deliverance
of Rice from a watery grave, the neighbors were not
prepared to accept the slaves he seemed to be sending
home from foreign parts.
" What do you think," said the chief speaker, " they'll
perhaps become an expense to the town, and have to be
bid off for their board with the other paupers — suppos-
ing we send them back."
" Wait till we've examined 'em according to law," in-
terposed another, who was a selectman of the town-
ship. " Perhaps I'd better do it. Now jest stand by
and listen "
" What do you do for a living, if I may ask," he com-
menced, planting himself in the road in front of Jube,
" before we admit strangers, especially colored, it's as
well to be sure that they wont be a town charge — what
do you foller?"
Jube shook his head — the whole speech was a mys-
tery to him.
" What do you foller ?" persisted the selectman, get-
ting impatient.
" What do I folly !" repeated Jube, with a puzzled
look, then brightening up all at once, he added with a
smile :
" Me folly little masser."
" But how do you get your living ?"
"He's my father now, and me support him," said
Paul, with dignity, for he began to comprehend a little
of the conversation.
STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE. 219
" And who supports you, my little shaver ?"
" Me have money," answered Paul ; " Jube, show
monsieur much money there in the purse."
Jube took a heavy shot bag from his pocket, and
opening it exhibited more gold than the selectman had
ever seen in his life. The whole group of countrymen
gathered around him, full of eager curiosity.
" I should think that satisfactory," said one of the
speakers, addressing the selectman.
" No doubt on that point," was the answer ; " but
where on arth du they come from, I should raly like to
know." +
" Will you please tell us some way," said Paul,
modestly. " It is much cold here, and Jube likes a fire
too much."
"You want to know the road to Mrs. Allen's ?"
" Yes, monsieur, that is the name 1"
" Well, she lives over the hill."
" Which way we go, monsieur ?"
" No, it isn't monsur, but Bungy that you're after."
" And that way, if you please?"
" Turn round that great wilier tree on the corner,
keep to the left of the white house back of it, and then
go straight along. It's a brown house with a narrow
door yard, and a shag bark walnut tree standing at one
end — you can't miss it, no how."
" Thank you," said the boy, lifting his cap with the
grace of a little prince, "monsieur are much kind."
Jube also lifted his cap, and stood close by his
master, a good deal puzzled and disturbed by the con-
versation that had been forced upon them.
The men who \vere left behind drew together in a
group
220 STRANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
" It's a bad time for strangers to be asking the way
to that house," said the selectman, looking after the
travellers, "but one couldn't make them understand.
With officers in charge, and that miserable girl lying
at the point of death, as I may say, it will come hard
on Mrs. Allen. I almost wish some of us had taken
them home."
"Let them go," said the man addressed. "They
bring good news from the son that was lost — poor
woman, she will find that God does not altogether for-
sake her, though it is an awful trial she is going
through." »
With a parting salutation, so respectful from Jube,
and so elegant from the boy, that the men stood quite
confounded, the old negro and his charge passed on up
the hill.
" It's the first brown house," one of the little group
called out, as soon as he recovered his power of speech,
which, like those of any true New Englander, were not
to be checked long by any condition whatever ; " the
first brown house, and ask for widder Allen."
The two strangers looked back, comprehending the
gesture which accompanied these words, and, with
another courteous salute, disappeared along a bend in
the road.
" We've almost reached our journey's end, Jube," the
boy said, in their native tongue, after they had walked
some distance.
" Yes, little master," said Jube, in the same tongue,
"that's the house I see now up yonder."
" I wonder if she is a kind woman ?" the boy con-
tinued, his thoughts reverting to all the trouble and
cruelty of the past months.
STRANGERS IX THE VILLAGE. 221
" I hope so, little master ; it's a woman's nature, most
times ; and if she have a spark of goodness in her
heart, it must come out when she see that blessed young
face."
"Dave's mother ought to be kind and good, I am
sure."
" Very nice man, that Master Rice ; Jube will never
forget him, never 1"
With such broken conversation, they pursued their
way, and soon reached the summit of the hill. Just
before them was the old farm house which once looked
so cheerful and pleasant, but now a (juiet so profound
pervaded the whole place that it seemed like a shadow
deepening under the trouble which oppressed its in-
mates.
With his refined instincts and sympathies, the boy
felt a peculiar restlessness creep over his mind as he
approached the dwelling.
" How still it is, Jube," he said, unconsciously sinking
his voice to a whisper, as they lingered for an instant
by the gate ; "it seems as if they were all sick or dead."
"Not that, little master," replied Jube, occupied
with the reflection that his beloved charge had at last
reached a place of tranquillity, and incapable of the
vague emotions which agitated the sensitive nerves of
the child.
He opened the gate, and held it ajar for the boy to
pass through. Never once, in all their sorrow and con-
fusion, had he forgotten the respect which was due to
his old master's son.
" Go in, Master Paul ; don't be afeard, Jube is with
you yet."
" I am not afraid ; I only feel sorry for these strange
people ; but why, I cannot tell."
222 S Til ANGERS IN THE VILLAGE.
Jube made no answer to the fancies which he could
not comprehend ; and, after that momentary hesitation,
the boy passed up the little garden path to the house,
and waited, while the negro gave a quick, eager rap
upon the door.
Mrs. Allen was occupied in the bedroom, and did not
hear the summons, but it aroused the officer who sat
over the kitchen fire, struggling with sleep and the
dreary reflections to which the place and his duty gave
rise.
" Come ml" he called, in a low voice ; then, fearful
of disturbing the sick girl, whom he had already begun
to pity, in spite of the sin and guilt which he believed
to be upon her, he rose from his chair, and walked to
the door, starting in astonishment when he opened it,
and saw the two strangers standing there.
Paul looked at Jube for assistance, and Jube looked
back at him so helpless and confused, in his efforts to
recall his very imperfect English, that the boy was
obliged to depend upon his own courage and knowledge
of the harsh tongue.
"Madame Allen live here?" he asked, while the offi-
cer, between astonishment at his grace and foreign
accent, only stared the harder, instead of answering.
" Moder to Masser Rice," added Jube, coming to his
young master's assistance, and after successfully pro-
nouncing so much in his best English, he rushed into a
flood of French, which completed the man's bewilder-
ment.
" Land's sake !" he exclaimed. " What on arth does
the critter mean — never heerd such a lingo in all my
life !"
" Chut /" whispered Paul to his companion ; " he
doesn't understand you."
THE WELCOME LETTER. 223
The recollection quite took Jube by surprise. He
ceased at once, his mouth gaping wide, and the whites
of his eyes displayed in bewildering astonishment.
"We wish Madame Allen," pursued the boy.
" De moder of her son," put in Jube, coming to his
senses, and determining to assist his master by every
means in his power.
"The widder Allen lives here," replied the man, "if
you want her — the Lord knows she near enough crazy,
anyhow," he continued, in a lower tone. " But walk in,
walk in."
CHAPTER XXX.
THE WELCOME LETTER.
guard left Paul and his black friend standing on
the door step, and went toward the bedroom, calling, in
a half-whisper,
" Here, Mrs. Allen, somebody wants you."
The old woman heard his voice, and came out into the
kitchen, closing the bedroom door, and looking with as
much astonishment at the strangers as her numbed
faculties would permit her to feel.
" They want to see you," said the officer, turning
toward her ; " I can't make out nothing more — they talk
such outlandish lingo."
Paul motioned Jube to follow, and entered the kitchen.
He walked up to the old lady and removed his cap with
a low bow, saying :
224 THE WELCOME LETTER.
"It is Madame Allen — the mother of Monsieur
Rice ?"
" I was his mother," she replied, in a hollow voice,
" but he is dead. What do you want of me, little boy ?"
" This letter for you," Paul continued, taking the
carefully preserved epistle from his pocket.
The old woman shrunk away, and put out her hand as
if to thrust the letter aside.
"More trouble," she muttered. "What can come
now?"
Paul understood, rather from the expression of her
face than a comprehension of her words, that she was
startled.
" Yery good news," he said. " The lady much happy
now."
" Happy !" she repeated. " Who is that from ?"
" From him — from madame's own son I"
She only looked incredulous ; she was so stunned by
suffering that her mind could not readily receive any
new impression.
" I haven't any son," she said ; "my son is dead."
The boy glanced anxiously toward Jube, and the old
negro felt bound to offer his assistance, although sadly
at a loss to remember a single English word by which
matters might be explained.
" No dead, lady !" he exclaimed ; " bery live, Masser
Rice ; yes, certainement ; very much so."
The old woman gave him a wild look, snatched the
letter from Paul's hand, and tore it open, while the three
stood gazing at her in astonishment.
" His writing," she muttered. " Oh, I must be going
crazy 1"
She read the page, retreated backward, and fell into a
THE WELCOME LETTER. 225
chair, while the letter fluttered slowly to the floor. She
understood the contents, but had wept so much during
the past days, that no tears were left ; even joy could
not revivify the wasted fount.
" What is the matter, Mrs. Allen ?" exclaimed the
officer, frightened by her appearance. " Don't look so ;
don't now; it skeers a fellow!"
She pointed to the letter.
* Read it to me," she whispered ; "read it, I say ; maybe
I shall believe it then."
The man picked up the sheet, and spelled out the
tidings as well as his astonishment and Rice's crabbed
writing would permit.
" My son is alive," muttered the woman. " God has
not altogether forsaken me !"
"Alive !" repeated the officer ; " gone another voyage,
and sent these two here."
Paul had crept close to Jube, and slipped his slender
fingers into the broad palm of his trusty companion,
startled by the scene.
" You came from my son ?" said the woman, looking
earnestly at them.
" Yes," interrupted the officer ; " seems to be a sort
of adoptation on Dave's part ; he's dreadful perticular
to have the boy sent to the district school to once."
Mrs. Allen struggled with herself, managed to rise,
and walked toward the chamber door.
" Stay here," she said ; " sit down and wait for me."
They understood her words, and seated themselves as
she directed. Her heavy tread upon the stairs echoed
clown into the room, and when it died away in the gar-
ret, they sat waiting, while the officer stared at them as
14
226 THE WELCOME LETTER.
if they had been two strange birds, placed there for his
observation.
When Mrs. Allen reached the cold, silent garret, she
sank upon her knees on the bare boards and tried to
pray. Broken and faint were the murmurs which fell
from her lips ; but gradually, through that silent prayer,
a ray of hoi}* happiness stole over her haggard features
— God had sent one gleam of light into the terrible
blackness which surrounded her. »
She rose, at length, strengthened, and able more
clearly to reflect upon the joy that had come so unex-
pectedly into the midst of her anguish.
Her son was alive — it was better that he should not
be there — he could in no way aid Katharine. As for
her own portion of the agony, only God could help her
to endure that. But he was alive, and would come back
in time to comfort her.
Nearly half an hour must have elapsed before she
descended the stairs and again entered the kitchen.
The strangers were still seated by the fire, and the offi-
cer had sufficiently recovered from his stupor of aston-
ishment to overpower them with all sorts of questions,
very few of which they understood ; but as they made
up for this lack of comprehension by a courtesy alto-
gether new and puzzling to him, he had to make the
best of matters.
" They come from 'way off, goodness knows where,"
he said, turning toward Mrs. Allen. " Dave's the queerest
fellow to pick up odd critters !"
The woman paid no attention to his words, but went
up to Paul and laid her hand on his shoulder ; the look
of childish comprehension and sj-mpathy which he lifted
to her face seemed to go to her heart as no expressions
THE WELCOME LETTER. 227
of kindness from another had been able i,o do. A faint
dew gathered in her eyes, but no absolute tears.
"Are you hungry ?" she asked. " I will get you some-
thing to eat."
"Madame must not trouble much," Paul said, re-
spectfully.
" It's the natur' o' children and darkies to eat," re-
marked the officer, sapiently ; " you'd better hunt 'em up
a cold bite. I feel kinder hungry myself, Mrs. Allen."
The old woman went about her duties in a methodical
way, finding a kind of relief in the occupation. She
placed such food as she had prepared upon the table,
and motioned Paul to sit down. Before the little fellow
touched a morsel himself, he heaped a plate with great
slices of gingerbread and mince pie, and carried them
to Jube.
" Do look at that," muttered the officer ; " wal, I never
seed a little chap have so much manners afore."
" You are much kind," Paul said to Mrs. Allen ; " so
was good Rice — le grand Dieu will bless both."
" Granite do," remarked the officer ; "I wonder if
that's his name ?"
" The letter says, Paul," returned the woman.
" Me ; that me," said the boy, catching his name, and
looking up with a smile.
The woman once more took up the letter, and sat
down to gain a clearer knowledge of its contents.
"And you're sent here to stay," she said, with a weary
sigh, as she folded the sheet. " Dear me, what a place
for anj- one to come to !"
" Yes," replied the boy, understanding her first words ;
"in few months — tree, four, Monsieur Rice come too."
" His name is Dave," said the officer ; " but, la ! I cal-
THE WELCOME LETTER.
culate they have all sorts of queer names for folks in
them out of the way countries."
When Paul had finished his meal he returned to his
old place on the little stool by Jube's side, and the pair
eat looking wistfully at each other, oppressed by the
strangeness and gloom of the place.
Mrs. Allen paid little attention to them. She washed
the dishes with her usual care, and put them away in
the corner cupboard, brushed the hearth, moved rest-
lessly about, finding that relief in constant occupation
which the mind is sure to seek during a great sorrow.
Paul sat watching her with his large, wistful eyes,
for she had strangely excited some inexplicable sym-
pathy in his heart.
After a time a feeble voice called from the bedroom.
"Mother; where are you, mother?"
Katharine had awakened, and was startled to find her-
self alone ; but at the summons the old woman went
into the bedroom, and the murmur of their voices
reached the kitchen faintly.
In a few moments Mrs. Allen came out with a cup in
her hand. She went to the fire, took a tin basin from
the hearth, and poured a portion of the contents into
the cup, but her hands shook so tremulously that the
hot liquid spilled over them.
Paul arose, and took the dish from her with his usual
gentleness.
" Let me carry it," he said. " Madame very tired."
Poor old madame ! His kindness touched her like a
new pang. She followed him to the bedroom and took
the cup again.
" Sick lady there ?" he whispered.
Mrs. Allen bent her head, she could not speak just
then.
THE WELCOME LETTER. 229
"Paul will help," continued the boy. " Paul nursed
mamma once — please let him help the sweet made-
moiselle."
The boy had caught a glimpse of Katharine's face,
and his own brightened.
The old woman felt as if an angel had unexpectedly
been sent to aid her in her misery — the pitying
light in those beautiful eyes went to her heart like a
blessing.
After that, every time she went in or out, Paul
watched her movements and assisted her in his unob-
trusive way, then«crept back to Jube, and waited to see
in what manner he could next express his desire to be
of use.
" He goes about as handy as a pet kitten," said the
officer at last, sorely perplexed in his mind. " Got a
mother, little chap ?"
The negro understood these words, and put up his
hands with a warning gesture.
" Hush !" said Mrs. Allen, sternly ; " you know what
the letter said."
" I forgot," returned the man, and he began uneasily
biting his finger nails, to hide his confusion; but the
nails proved very horny and tough, and he failed to get
rid of much contrition in that way.
Paul made no answer to his question ; he only re-
treated a little closer to Jube, and laid his head upon
the negro's knee. The simple action wrung Mrs.
Allen's heart with a new pang. Hard and severe as her
nature was, it had become so softened under her grief
that she was unusually observant, and touched by trifles
which at another time would have passed by unheeded.
" I expect you're tired," said the officer, pointing his
230 THE WELCOME LETTER.
finger, with its dilapidated nail, at the boy ; " 3rou're
tired now, aint you ?"
" A little," said Paul, without raising his head. " Only
very little."
Jube knew by the sorrowful voice that the child was
thinking of his mother, and had been pained by the
man's thoughtless question in regard to her. He at-
tempted no consolation in words, but laid his great hand
protectingly upon the boy's shoulder. The two crept
a little closer to each other, feeling a sort of safety and
comfort in that silent companionship.
"I expect they feel kinder cold," remarked the
officer.
Mrs. Allen heard, and remembered that there was a
fireplace in the chamber where she intended them to
sleep. She went out into the wood house for pine knots
to kindle a fire, but Paul had followed her with that
solicitude to which she was so unaccustomed, and when
he saw her errand, motioned Jube to follow.
" Jube very strong," he said ; " carry me — carry wood
. — likes to do it too much."
The old woman attempted no opposition ; she allowed
the negro to take up an armful of sticks, and led the
way up-stairs in silence, Paul still accompanying them,
from an unwillingness to remain alone with the strange
man.
Jube's intentions were of the most praiseworthy
description, but it must be confessed that his success in
making a fire was not equal to his ambition. When
Mrs. Allen saw that he only succeeded in raising a
smoke instead of kindling a flame, she took the matter
into her own hands, and speedily the knots and kind-
lings were hissing and snapping on the unused hearth
at a famous rate.
THE WELCOME LETTER. 231
" Jube learn," Paul said, smiling at both, and trying
to comfort the negro's evident discomfiture, " learn very
quick. Tout suit J"
"Yes, little masser," he replied; " Jube know how
next time."
Mrs. Allen signified to them that they were to sleep
in that room ; there was a trundle bed for Paul, which
Katharine had occupied when a child, and she impro-
vised a very comfortable sort of couch for the attend-
ant. She spread a bit of rag carpet before Paul's bed,
and made every thing homelike and tidy for the shiver-
ing strangers.
" Come down and warm," she said, when her prepara-
tions were completed, noticing that they shivered with
cold.
Paul and Jube followed her down-stairs and took their
former seats by the fire, while she, after stealing into the
bedroom, to be certain that Katharine slept, took her
station by the hearth likewise, and remained gazing
drearily into the fire.
At last she seemed to remember how late it was, and,
getting up, took a brass warming-pan, with its long
wooden handle, which she filled with hot coals. Thus
armed, she went up-stairs, came down again after an
absence of ten minutes, and told her guests to go up to
bed before the sheets got cold.
When the two went up-stairs, Jube found his humble
bed warmed comfortably, like that of his little master.
232 THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
CHAPTER ' XXXI.
THE BED SCHOOL-HOUSE AT SHRUB OAK
f
ONE entire week that poor girl lay upon the verge of
death ; but so still, so mournfully feeble, that it would
have pained you to look at her. The sound of her voice
must have sent you from her presence heart-broken.
The doctor visited her every day. At times he attempted
to arouse her with some of his droll sayings, but the
voice in which they were uttered was so pitiful that she
understood it only as a compassionate attempt to com-
fort her, and so, in truth, it was.
One day, when the fever had left her brain, and she
could scarcely speak for want of strength, Katharine
v hispered the doctor to sit down a little while, as she
Lad something to ask him about.
The doctor slid his crutches along the floor, and seated
himself on the edge of the bed, looking very grave, for
he felt what the poor thing was about to say.
" Doctor."
"Well, my child."
" What is that man always staj'ing in the kitchen for?"
" That man— oh ! he's help."
"Night and day, night and day, he's always there,"
murmured the unhappy girl. " He tries to keep out of
sight ; but every time the door opens I see his shadow
on the wall."
"And it frightens yon, poor child ; is that it ?"
" Yes, doctor, it troubles me. I want to know what
it means ?"
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE. 233
" He lias been sent here to keep your mother com-
pany."
She looked at him with reproachful earnestness, tried
to shake her head, but the languid eyelids only drooped
over the blue orbs fastened on his face, and, directly,
tears began »to swell under them.
" I heard people talking in the other room, doctor ;
what was it about ?"
"I cannot tell you, not knowing what they said."
" They were talking about my baby."
The word broke out in a sob, and tears gushed through
her trembling eyelashes. The doctor laid his hand on
her head, and then the convulsion of her grief became
heart-rending.
" Hush, child, hush ! don't cry, don't cry — it will hurt
you."
" Doctor, what — what did my baby die of?"
The doctor turned white with the pain and surprise
of that question.
" Won't you tell me, doctor ?"
He looked at her in stern distrust. Her face was in-
nocent as a child's. She interrogated his countenance
imploringly through her tears.
" Don't you know, Katharine ?"
She began to cry bitterly.
" How could I ? no one tells me, and I can't remember
any thing."
" Katharine, is this true ?"
" Is what true, doctor?"
" Have you no knowledge how the child died ?"
" No ; I was in bed here, shaking with cold and burn-
ing up with fever. I wanted the baby, and got up ; it
was in the cradle, dead. Oh, I remember so well how
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
white its little face was — how white and cold. I came
back again, crept into bed, and wished that God would
let me die, too."
"And this is all you know ?"
" Yes, doctor ; I was afraid to ask mother about it —
she looks so strange ; but you will tell me every thing."
The doctor gathered up his crutches hurriedly, and
stamped his way into the next room.
" Mrs. Allen," he said, sharply, "you are a brave wo-
man. I'm nothing but a poor, miserable coward. I'm
going to sneak off, and let you talk to that poor girl. I
could cut the throat of a lamb when it was looking into
my eyes as soon as tell her what must come. You're a
Christian, Mrs. Allen, a downright Christian, and no
sham — crusty and bitter, sharp and honest. You can
do it ; I can't. You're a Bible woman ; I'm an old sin-
ner, and am running away — do you understand — because
I'm an abominable old coward. Tell her yourself."
Mrs. Allen turned white as parchment. She under-
stood the doctor's meaning in full.
" Has she been asking questions, doctor ?"
" Yes ; enough to break a commonly good heart — but
mine is tough as sole leather."
" She is better ?"
" Yes ; a great deal better."
"And when she is well enough to be moved, they will
take her away ?"
" I suppose so — the hounds."
The woman stood motionless— her hands tightly
clasped, and her lips stiffening with pain.
" You are right," she said ; " who but her mother should
take up this burden. I will tell Katharine."
"Not 'till I am out of sight!" cried the doctor, wheel-
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE. 235
ing sharply on his crutches. " I tell you, woman, I
can't stand it — feel like a butcher for what I have done.
The law is an abomination. Why can't they let my
pretty pigeon alone ? As if there wasn't babies enough
without making a fuss if one does drop off a little out
of the common way ?"
" I'll tell her. It's hard, but what is before me I can
do," said the woman.
" Can't I help little ?" said a sweet voice from the
hearth, "or Jube? he's very strong."
The doctor looked down on little Paul with a glance
half quizzical, half serious.
" You, little shoat, you ?"
" Yes, if madame please," said Paul, with a sad smile ;
" if there's trouble, I and Jube very used to it. We've
been in a boat together three days, with nothing but red
hot sun and many waters to look on, till they blind us.
We know how to be hungry and cold, and he knows how
to be whipped on his back and never say a word. That
is why we can help."
" That little trooper is what I call a pilgrim," mut-
tered the guard, nodding at the doctor with a wink of
the left eye.
Mrs. Allen laid her unsteady hand on Paul's dark
curls. " He is a good boy, and God will bless him," she
said.
Paul, with that touching grace that is so beautiful in
highly bred children of foreign birth, took the hard hand
of his benefactress and touched it to his lips.
" He ought to have been sent to school," she said, in
a weary voice, addressing the doctor. " My son charged
it upon me, but I could not leave her."
The doctor wheeled round, and examined Paul's face
from beneath his heavy eyebrows.
236 THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
" Go get your cap and great coat," he said with gruff
kindness. " If j-ou've got a wedge of mince pie or a
slice of gingerbread, Mrs. Allen, drop it into a dinner
basket, and I'll put the shaver on his course of studies
in double-quick time. Send him out when all is ready."
It took the doctor some minutes to mount his horse.
By the time he was in the saddle, Paul came forth with
a painted dinner basket on his arm. A new pair of mit-
tens imprisoned his delicate hands, while the yarn com-
forter that Rice had given him was twisted around his
neck, and concealed the lower part of his face.
" That's right, little trooper ; climb up the fence and
hop on behind. That's it — sharp as a steel trap. Sit
up close and hold on to my belt. All right. Here we
go ! Get up ! Get along, I say !"
The doctor's horse had been used to carrying double
in all sorts of ways, so he only threw up his head, and
cast his long mane on the air like a banner, intend-
ing this action as a protest against extra burdens in
general, before he started off in a heavy trot toward
Falls Hill.
The doctor was heavy-hearted enough, but he took
some note of the strange child under his charge, told
him to hang on to his belt like a dog to a sassafras
root, and expressed a decided opinion that Paul would
be a man before his mother, which filled the boy's heart
with sadness, as* that word mother was ever sure to do.
The red school-house at Shrub Oak was half a mile
out of the doctor's way, but instead of setting Paul
down at the willow tree on the corner, he put his eccen-
tric steed to its mettle, and drew up in front of that
sublime scat of learning with considerable dash.
" Holloa there, Tibbies 1 Holloa I I say ! Come out
and get a new scholar."
THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE. 237
Mr. Tibbies, the master, heard this shout while in
the midst of his pupils, and laying down his ruler with
dignity, moved toward the door, leaving a hum and rush
of whispers behind, which might have reminded one of
Babel before the inmates had ventured entirely upon their
new tongues.
" How do you do, Tibbies ? Young ideas shoot pros-
perously— ha ? Give 'em the birch — give 'em the birch.
Nothing like it. Whipped half out of my skin before I
got through Webster's spelling-book. Did me good.
Give 'em birch ; and if you can't find that handy, try
hemlock sprouts. Tingle beautifully."
The master took these suggestions1 demurely, and
asked if the little boy upon the horse wanted to come
to school.
" Yes. Hop down, shaver. Give him a lift, Tibbies.
A little Frenchman from St. Domingo. Nothing but a
nest of niggers left there. Killed all the white folks off.
Nice country, that. You have heard of the boy that
stuck to the wrecked brig with Dave Rice ?"
" Oh, yes, doctor," answered Tibbies, brightening.
" There he is, large as life. Take good care of him,
for he's worth a dozen of your common fellows. Put
him through English, and give him a touch of Latin, if
you remember any. Who knows but I may take him
for a student one of these days ?"
While the doctor was speaking, he took Paul by the
hand, and swung him lightly to the ground. Mr. Tibbies
took possession of the handsome boy with no little
pride ; for the child who had stood so manfully by David
Rice had become a historical character in Shrub Oak,
and the master felt the dignity of his school enhanced
by Paul's advent there.
238 THE RED SCHOOL-HOUSE.
Paul was a good deal embarrassed as he entered
school with thirty pairs of eyes levelled at him, sparkling
with every possible degree of curiosity. He sat down
on a little bench, blushing like a girl, but looking so
modest and gentle withal, that the whole school felt
a general and kindly impulse toward the stranger.
The bluest covered spelling-book was handed to him
from the master's desk. One boy volunteered to lend
him a slate, and another took a new pencil from his
pocket and gave it to him outright, looking triumphantly
round at the little girls' bench to be sure that his inti-
mac}r with the distinguished stranger had made its im-
pression in that quarter.
At noon time there was no limit to the hospitalities of
the occasion ; wonder-cakes, biscuits, and wedges of
pumpkin pie, made their way into Paul's dinner basket.
One pretty little girl slily offered him a rusty coated
apple, and another was ambitious to teach him how to
slide on a strip of ice that lay, like a mammoth looking-
glass, a little distance down the turnpike.
Paul received all these kindnesses with gentle grace.
His broken speech, the sweet expression of his eyes, the
natural refinement which even children could feel, made
him a general favorite in less than two hours. The
large boys were already arranging to lend him their
sleds. As for the girls, the whispering and nudging
that took place among them whenever the lad lifted
those splendid eyes from his book, was a scandal to the
whole school and sex.
When Paul went out of school at night he felt very
lonesome and forlorn, not exactly knowing his way
home, and a good deal dismayed by the snow, which was
getting damp and heavy, with a succession of warm,
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE. 239
foggy days. While he was standing in the door, uncer-
tain which way to turn, two large boys, rosy from the
fresh air, came racing up harnessed to a hand sled, in
their opinion a marvel of workmanship, which was ex
pected to lift the stranger off his feet with admiration.
With cordial hospitality, the boys offered this convey
ance to Paul, who accepted it in good faith, and the
boys carried him away in triumph, dashing off toward
Falls Hill, and up the crossroad, in splendid style.
The next day, one of these boys — the same little fel-
low who had given Rose Mason the string of robins'
eggs, might have been seen hanging around Mrs. Allen's
gate, looking wistfully at the front door. When it
opened, and Paul came forth, the lad ran to meet him,
and the two went away together, talking earnestly on
the road to school.
CHAPTER XXXII.
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE.
ALAS ! the sad and heavj^-hearted sorrow that was left
behind on the day that little Paul went forth to his
school-boy life. Twice, Mrs. Allen went into Katharine's
room and sat down, pale and soul-stricken, waiting to
be questioned ; but her daughter had been exhausted by
her conversation with the doctor, and lay with her eyes
closed, weary of all things. So, drawing a deep breath
from a consciousness of this reprieve, the wretched wo-
man went away again still more heavily laden with the
240 A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE.
duty that clung to her like a vampire, and so a "week
passed by without another attempt. At last, toward
nightfall one day, Katharine spoke :
" Mother ?"
"My child."
" What is it that you are all afraid of telling me ?"
" A great trouble, Katharine ; something that even
I, who have some courage, tremble to speak of."
" Is it about my baby, mother ?"
"Yes."
" I am glad you are willing to answer me ; the doctor
put me off."
" But I will not put you off, my poor child."
"What is it, mother? This frightens me — your
voice is husky, your face strange — did my baby die a
hard death?"
" Yes, very hard. It was killed."
The voice was indeed husky that uttered these words.
Katharine rose up in the bed, her eyes grew large and
wild.
" Killed ?"
" Yes, God help ITS — it was dead and buried when we
found it."
" Dead and buried ; mother, mother !"
The words came forth in a sharp cry, breaking the
pale lips apart and leaving them so.
" I left it alive, Katharine — sleeping by your side.
Can you remember when I went out that day after a
man to haul some wood from Castle Rock?"
Katharine held both hands to her temples, rocking
to and fro as if the effort to think cost great pain.
" Yes, mother, I remember about the wood. You put
the shawl, that David sent me, over my shoulders. The
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE. 241
baby was asleep then, with one hand to its mouth. I
took the hand away just to see it nestle ; its pretty lips
were moving all the time."
" What then ?"
" It was a noise, mother — a trumpet sounding through
the house — dead leaves, white leaves flying all about
me ; then, mother, then immense heaps of snow rolling,
heaving, and spreading everywhere. I — I cannot re-
member how I got in or out of this cold whiteness. It
seemed to bury me in a long sleep."
" Poor child — poor little Katharine."
" Oh, I remember you called me that when I was a
very small child."
" Katharine, try ; can you remember nothing more ?"
" Nothing more, only as one recollects that she has
been miserably asleep."
" But it was in this time, while I was away to see
about that wood, that our baby was killed."
" Killed !— how ?"
" Strangled."
" Mother— mother !"
The anguish of this cry made the poor woman trem-
ble ; but she must speak out all her fearful knowledge
or her daughter would never be prepared for the future.
" Mother, tell me— tell me 1"
The poor young creature lay gasping upon her pillow.
It was a terrible scene to witness.
" It had been strangled or smothered, and buried deep
in the snow, by the rocks under the butternut tree, half
way to Mr. Thrasher's."
" There — there in sight of his father's house !"
She writhed in anguish on her bed, weak, fragile, tor-
15
2-12 A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE.
tured, it seemed as if she must die before another shock
reached her.
" Dead — buried in the snow," she kept repeating.
The mother knelt by the bed, holding forth her arms,
which the wretched girl could not see.
"Ask God to give you strength, Katharine."
"You ask him for me, mother; my heart aches so."
" Oh, Katharine, we have greater trouble yet to
come."
" Greater trouble than the death of one's little babe —
that can never be !" Katharine answered with pathetic
pain. " No, no, mother, that can never be !"
" Katharine, the neighbors believe that — " she paused,
put a hand to her throat, as if the words strangled her,
and went on in a voice so near a whisper that it sounded
unearthly, "believe that you killed the child."
" Kill my child ! Did they know I was its mother?"
" Killed and buried it with your own hands in the
snow," persisted the woman, drearily. " This is what
they charge you with, my daughter."
" No, no, mother !"
"A jury have decided so."
"A jury 1 What cruel thing is that ?"
"It is a court."
"A court ! What was that for ?"
" To say if you were innocent — "
" Guilty of murdering my own baby — his and mine !
Do the neighbors want a court to prove that of me ?"
"It has been held, Katharine, here under my roof."
" Held here ?"
"And that is why we are never alone."
" That man — you mean that man !" cried Katharine,
A TERRIBLE DISCLOSURE. 243
shrinking back in the bed with a look of affright.
" Did the neighbors put him here to watch me ? Why ?"
" They fear you will attempt to escape !"
" Escape where ? Is not this my home ?"
The old woman wrung her hands in bitter agony.
This scene was racking every nerve in her body. That
young creature had not fully comprehended that which
no mother living could have told. All her own strength
was exhausted — she had no fortitude left. Katharine
lay with her great, wild eyes searching her mother's
face, as it fell helplessly downward upon her bosom.
" Mother, if the neighbors believe this, what will they
do to me ?"
" Kill you, my poor lamb!" the woman whispered.
Katharine did not seem to feel this so keenly as other
things that had been said ; it was beyond her compre-
hension— she could not realize it.
" No, mother, that can never be. God knows all
things I"
The young creature almost smiled as she said this,
and closing her eyes turned her face to the wall.
It was strange that, in all her trouble, she never once
alluded to Thrasher with an idea of protection, or
seemed to have any hope of succor from him. The
letter he had sent left no impression on her memory,
but some more subtle intuition possessed her soul, and
this secret second-sense held all hope in check. This
half supernatural feeling also had doubtless given vague
after-shado wings of her child's death without absolutely
awakening her consciousness, for when the terrible truth
was revealed to her she seemed struggling to remember
something that had gone before.
Thus the real and the visionary were so mingled in
244 THE SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE.
her mind that a true realization of her danger was im-
possible, and knowing her innocence, a sweet trust in
the Divine justice sprang up in her soul, keeping out all
fear.
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE OLD COUPLE ON THEIR SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE.
DURING the days that had followed Katharine Allen's
arrest — days so terrible that their memory could never
die wholly out of the neighborhood — the old couple
in the farm house beyond the widow Allen's dwelling,
bore their full share of the horror and grief which
oppressed all who had known and loved the girl.
But both Mr. Thrasher and his wife were bowed be-
neath a deeper sorrow than mere commiseration for
one unfortunate creature — beneath a horror more pain-
ful than any thought of her sin.
For a time neither spoke of it. They avoided look-
ing in each other's face — those true hearts that had
never had a secret before — lest the fear that haunted
their minds should find utterance in their e}*es.
One night, as they sat by the kitchen fire, the old
lady mechanically knitting, and her husband looking
mournfully into the cheerful blaze, her thoughts found
an almost unconscious utterance.
" Oh, if I could only be certain — if Nelson was only
here to answer for himself."
Mr. Thrasher glanced quickly at her, then back into
the fire, while the old lady let her work fall, and sat
THE SHADOWED H E A B TH- S T 0 N E . 245
with her hands clasped in her lap, that mild, womanly
face darkened by a deeper shadow than it had ever be-
fore worn.
" If I could send for him, I would," replied Mr.
Thrasher, with a sternness his voice seldom took in ad-
dressing his wife. " I don't want to believe wrong of
any one, but if he were here, I'd question him."
" I wouldn't," broke in the mother ; " my heart would
break if I was sure of it."
" It's a black thing," continued he, taking no notice
of her remark, although the nervous twitching about his
mouth, and the tremulous movement of his hands, proved
that he had heard and shared in her feelings. " If I
could look him in the eyes," he continued, the sternness
creeping over his face again, "I should be answered."
" Don't think harshly of him !" returned his wife.
" Don't do that ! If we were to hear he was dead, re-
member how we should blame ourselves for any wrong
feeling."
" I would rather see him tying dead yonder, where he
used to sit, than know that he had tempted that poor
girl into sin."
" Yes, I know. But don't talk in that way, father ;
don't look like that ! I feel as if it wasn't you, with
that frown on your face."
She put out her hand and took his. He clasped his
hard fingers about hers with the faithful love of a life-
time ; but the determination and gloom did not leave
his features.
" I want to go down to the house," pursued the o!4
lady, "but I've put it off — I hadn't the courage, some-
how."
" Xor I," replied Mr. Thrasher; "but isn't it a dread-
24:6 THK SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE.
ful thing vrhen we are dreading to ask questions, for
fear we should stand face to face with our son's crime ?"
" No, no, I don't believe it 1 I won't believe it, father I
Such cruel words are unbecoming his parents J"
" I don't mean to be cruel to you or him, wife. Was
I ever so ?"
"Never! You have been one of the best husbands
that ever lived."
She could not longer keep back her tears — they rolled
down her cheeks, and fell, drop by drop, on her apron.
" I must go to the house," she said ; " who knows but
what Mrs. Allen is all alone. I feel as if I had been
hard-hearted in not going before."
"You'd better go," he answered. "Yes; it's your
duty."
" I thought of asking you to go with me, if you don't
mind. I should have more courage with you by my
side."
Mr. Thrasher was silent for a moment, then he said :
" Yes ; we will go to-morrow morning."
They put the subject aside ; nor was it again resumed.
The chapter in the Bible was read, the prayer was ut-
tered— no trouble could make those hearts forget that
duty — and, in their affliction, they only turned more
earnestly toward the help and comfort of their whole
lives.
The next morning, when breakfast was over, and the
work for the forenoon arranged, the husband and wife
took their way down the hill toward Mrs. Allen's house,
.keeping close together, as if great comfort lay in that
silent companionship.
When they reached the gate, both paused, looking,
anxiously at each other ; when Mr. Thrasher saw the
THE SHADOWED HEARTH-STONE. 247
pale trouble which agitated his wife, he tried to say a
few comforting words, but they broke on his lips.
He opened the gate, and they passed up the walk to
the house. Mr. Thrasher knocked, but there was no re-
sponse ; a second time, but no better success.
" Maybe we might go in," whispered his wife, but he
shook his head, and again tapped upon the door.
After another instant of suspense, which seemed very
long to them, they heard footsteps, the latch was lifted
from within, the door slowly opened, and Mrs. Allen
stood before them, so changed by those terrible days,
that the old friends of years could hardly feel that it
was her.
When Mrs. Allen saw who stood there, she started a
little, and the old pride gathered slowly over the anguish
of her face.
"We — we came to ask how Katharine is," Mrs
Thrasher said, faintly, taking it upon herself to break
the silence.
" She is better," returned the widow, neither moving
to give them entrance, or turning her eyes from that
steady gaze.
" Do you think I could see her ?" persisted the old
lady, trembling all over and ready to cry aloud.
"Nobody sees her but the doctor," replied Mrs.
Allen.
" I thought maybe I could do something — "
" There isn't any thing to do."
Then there was another awkward silence, which Mrs.
Thrasher broke, with a timidity which she could hardly
overcome.
" I should like to see Katharine," she said, " very,
very much."
243 THE SNOW FRESHET.
" She cannot see any one now — it is forbidden."
There were a few more faint remarks from Mrs.
Thrasher, then the pair turned away. Mrs. Allen closed
the door, they walked silently out of the }Tard and back
toward their house, which had never appeared so cheer-
less to them.
As they passed the butternut tree both the old people
turned away their heads, for the remembrance of that
morning when they stood together and watched their
son making signals from that very spot, for the wretched
prisoner to whose presence they had been denied not
half an hour before, filled their hearts with sensations
which neither of them could ever express.
It was a mournful thing to see those two good souls
in their bungling efforts to cheat each other into a belief
that no terrible sorrow had fallen upon them. It was
all a sad, sad failure.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE SNOW FRESHET.
THEKE was rare confusion and riot at the red school-
house. The weather had changed suddenly, the wind
blew from the south, the sun lay warm and dazzling
upon the snow-drifts-; but its treacherous kisses sub-
dued their cold strength and wasted their beauty.
At last it settled into a regular " thaw" — a Xew Eng-
land one at that. From the mud, a stranger might have
thought the very foundations of the earth had been
THE SNOW FRESHET. 249
ploughed up. Every snow bank dissolved itself into a
pert little rivulet, that swelled the general tide, and
formed a muddy lake on each side of the road, along
which hoi'ses and men passed so bespattered and stained
that one could easily believe they had been formed
entirely from clay, and were fast resolving themselves
back to the original element.
A tiny brook, that died out in dry weather and
sprung to existence on rainy days, ran along one end of
the school-house. It had slept quietly for weeks under
its icy bridge, but woke up with great commotion as
thousands of tiny streams flowed down from the hills,
and poured their excited little wavelets into its channel,
swelling the brook to such a size that it evidently be-
lieved itself a stupendous sort of river. It must have
been so ; nothing but that idea very firmly impressed,
could ever have excused the reckless conduct of that
overgrown brook.
It raved, and scolded, and tore along its banks, tum-
bling the great stones about, uprooting the poor little
frozen shrubs that had clung in fancied security to its
brink. Fuming, splashing, and rioting madly across the
road, the brook plunged down a gully at one end of the
school-house, and set up a famous little waterfall on its
own account. Then, rampant and muddj', it hurled
itself forward, melting the snow as it went, and pouring
over a high bank of the river, plunged in with tumultu-
ous "violence, making the deeper and slower stream swell,
and eddy, and fume for a whole minute as it swallowed
up the noisy affair.
The rush of this brook reached the boys caged up in
the school-house, and nearly drove them frantic. They
could hear the snow sliding off the roof of the school-
250 THE SNOW FRESHET.
house, and fall in heaps under the eaves, which dripped
with incessant moisture. Now and then came a crash
of icicles, breaking up the sunshine like splintered dia-
monds, and scattering broken fragments of crystal all
over the snow.
This riot of waters and crashing of ice were enough to
disorganize the best school in New England. The boys
might be kept on the hard benches ; but no power on
earth would tame them down to real study. There they
sat, burning with impatience, yet trying their best to
look studious and quiet, whenever the master's eyes
were upon them.
For some reason, there was to be a half holiday that
afternoon, and the poor little sinners waited as restlessly
as so many wild pigeons, with their wings tied, for the
hour which should contain their release.
A plan of operation for the afternoon had been al-
ready decided upon — I do not think there was one dis-
senting voice — and of all the fun which the whole year
might bring there would be nothing equal to that which
they anticipated as soon as the school was dismissed.
But it really seemed as if twelve o'clock never would
come ! Those boys began to think, one and all, that the
master had never been so slow in hearing the lessons.
At last he became so irritated by their restlessness and
inattention, that great fears arose that the holiday might
be lost altogether.
When that horrible prophecy was whispered about —
it originated with an unhappy-looking little Belshazzar,
who was afflicted with a step-father, and who, from the
vast stores of his experience, was always ready to draw
out sorrowful warnings — I say, when it got whispered
about, several of the larger boys nodded their heads at
THE SNOW FEESHET. 251
each other and looked ferociously rebellious, while the
little ones eyed them with profound admiration. Just
at that moment, the master's hand glided softly toward
the great ferule that lay upon his desk ; and somehow,
at that sight, the mutineers became wonderfully inter-
ested in their lessons, and their small admirers retreated
into their spelling-books so far that there seemed danger
of their disappearing altogether.
The moment came at last. The master pulled out his
silver watch, which ticked so loud and wrathfully that
it could be heard all over the room — glanced at it, while
every boy held his breath with anxiety. He waited an
instant, in order to give due solemnity to the occasion,
then down came the ferule on the desk with a grand
crash. School was dismissed.
Out rushed the boys, tumbling over each other in
hot haste, shrieking, hallooing, and plunging into the
snow with shouts of eager delight. Even Belshazzar
forgot his forebodings, and was foremost in this race
after fun.
The teacher, a kind, elderly man, went to the school-
house door and watched the tumult benignly from be-
neath the steel-bowed spectacles that had been hastily
thrust across his forehead. His face, which had been
severe, in a strained effort to keep up the dignity of his
school, noAv beamed with infinite satisfaction, and rub-
bing his hands gleefully, he was sorely tempted to take
ti share in the fun himself. Damming up a torrent like
that which came tumbling across the road, was some-
thing worth while, even for a man.
The boys rushed down to the swollen brook where it
entered the gulley and made a tumultuous descent to
the river, which was only concealed from the bulk win-
252 THE SNOW FRESHET.
dows of the school-house by a growth of young hem-
locks that contrasted richly with the crusted snow.
Here the boys were bound to make a dam big enough
to drown a fellow in, neck and heels. Who cared for
the mud ? Who was afraid of the snow ? Hurrah 1
hurrah ! come on all hands and pitch in. There is a
broken rail. Look out for the loose stones in that
tumble-down, old wall. Bring up drift wood from
the river, dead branches from the trees ; tear loads
of moss from the white oak stumps ; bring any thing,
every thing. Had any boy pluck enough to drag out
some logs from the school wood pile ? " Oh, golly ! there
is the master standing square in the door, and little
Paul, the furrener, talking to him. Hurrah ! the master
is sending him off to join the fun. Isn't he a trump ?"
Some of the boys stood still, knee deep in the water,
frightened half to death by that wicked word — trump.
But Tom Hutchins cried out with wonderful audacity,
" Trump ! who'se afeard ? He's a high, low, jack, and
the game, he is! There he goes into the school-house
just to give us a chance at the wood pile. Come on,
boys !"
Away the little fellows went, leaping like deer out of the
mud, and directly a whole team of boys came dragging
a walnut log through the snow, leaving a deep path all
the way from the wood pile, which the master never
could be made to see, spectacles or no spectacles, any
more than he could hear the tumbling logs close under
the window where he was sitting. I am inclined to
think the bo}-s were right, and that old man was a
trump, though he did belong to the church.
"Hurrah! stand from under," said Tom Hutchins,
looking down upon a swarm of schoolmates who were
THE SNOW FRESHET. 253
busy as bees in the mud and water of the gully. " Here
comes the crowner — A number one, and no mistake.
Come up here and give a boost, you chaps."
The boys sprang up the muddy sides of the gully,
dripping like water-gods, reckless of wet jackets, torn
trowsers, and shoes from which the water came up in
gushes, and helped pitch that great, knotty log end
foremost into the gully, where it was to form a line for
the water to sweep over.
" Take it by the end — lift all at once — now, heave all
together. Hurrah ! hurrah !"
Paul had, indeed, lingered around the school-house
door till the master sent him off to join the play. Then
he went down to the brook and stood disconsolate on
its high bank, as all this wild fun went on. He was cold
and confused. No one asked him ' to help dam up the
brook, so he stood in the snow, buried to the ears in his
overcoat and comforter, and thinking that the watery
sunshine was a very poor imitation of the tropical
warmth in which he had formerly luxuriated.
He was at a loss how to take part in their play ; be-
sides that, the very roar of the water, and riot of the
boys, reminded him of that fearful night when he was
made an orphan, and so recalled his sufferings, that he
longed to get beyond the sound. As for the boys, they
were all too much engaged to notice his abstraction or
ask his assistance.
254 ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
t
CHAPTER XXXY.
ALL SOETS OF TREASON.
I B[AVE done a little injustice to Tom Hutchins — the
warm-hearted lad who had been so in love with little
Rose Mason, and was sure to be in love with every boy
or girl who awoke his admiration, or needed his help.
It was he who had proposed to draw Paul home on his
sled, on his first lonely school day, and since that time
a warm friendship had sprung up between the two lads.
The first liking had been cemented by an exchange
of doughnuts, wonder cakes, and red-cheeked apples.
Then Tom had undertaken to teach Paul English in
conversational lessons, and picked up a few scraps of
French from the boy, fairly believing himself to be
speaking a foreign language when he twisted his hard,
New England tongue into imitations of Paul's pretty
broken English, in which the boy could now make him-
self understood.
In the midst of his eager work on the dam, Tom saw
Paul standing alone on the bank and called to him.
But Paul shook his head, with a sad smile, and shrunk
further away from the water. Then Tom gave one
great heave at the log which was to complete the dam,
shook the mud from his hands, and went dripping
np the bank, with his face all aglow, and smiling as if
he had just come out of a spring shower, and was in-
viting his friend down to watch the wild flowers start
up in his track.
" Are you cold, Paul ?" he asked, dancing about till
the water splashed over the tops of his boots.
ALL SORTS OF TREASON". 255
" A little," Paul said, shivering. " Only a little."
"Why, it's a'most like summer," returned Tom.
" Splendid."
"Is it?" Paul asked, shivering worse than ever, as
he thought what a forlorn idea of summer people must
have in that frigid land.
" Why, how you do shiver," cried Tom. " Let'stake
a run up the hill and back, or you'll freeze solid."
"But you want to play," Paul said; "go with the
boys, they are calling for you."
" Let 'em," replied Tom, philosophically, consoled at
once by the idea that his playmates needed his assist-
ance, and too full of generous kindness for any thought
of leaving Paul to his loneliness. " Come along — let's
see who'll get to the top first."
At the conclusion of their race Paul had got a color
in his cheeks, and felt somewhat less like an icicle than
before.
Then Tom paused, and looked Paul in the face quite
seriously.
" Come down here among the hemlocks ; I want to
talk to you where the boys can't hear. We might do it
in French, you know — you and I — but mebby we'd
better have it out according to the spelling-book."
Paul smiled, and followed his friend to the bank of
the river, where they sat down under the sheltering
hemlock boughs. Tom shivered a little, but he shook
the weakness off, and broke forth at once into the sub-
ject that was on his mind.
Tom's head was full of Katharine Allen and her
troubles, a subject upon which he and Paul had held
many earnest conversations, interspersed by nvysterious
hints about Rose Mason and Tom's unhappy state of
mind regarding her absence in some unknown country.
256 ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
"Paul, how is Katharine Allen this morning?" he
said, abruptly.
Paul shook his head sadly b}r way of answer.
"Not any better ?" asked Tom. " "Wai, I'm sorry for
her, anyhow. Little Rose liked her, and she was always
good to Rose. It scares me to death to think what
they Ire going to do to her."
"Who?" asked Paul.
"Why the law, of course," replied Tom, shocked at
his friend's ignorance. "You know they're going to
take her to prison as soon as she's well enough to be
carried there."
"Yes, I know. They are wicked men, too wicked,"
exclaimed Paul ; " why can't they leave her alone ?"
"You mustn't say any thing agin the squire," re-
turned Tom, with his New England respect for the law
and its ministers. " I'm sorry for her, but you see she
kinder killed the baby, poor little critter — I guess she
was crazy, though, I do, but marm won't hear on it."
"Why don't her husband come and help her," Paul
suggested.
" She haint got any — oh, dear no, that's the worst on
it, marm says."
" Oh, she must have."
" Oh, must she !" retorted Tom, exulting in his knowl-
edge of this world's wickedness, gained from conversa-
tions he had overheard concerning the poor girl, yet
perplexed, and quite unable to settle the matter to his
own satisfaction. Still he had no intention of allowing
Paul to suppose that his wisdom was more than half
assumed.
"I'm glad Miss Rose ain't here, anyhow," he ob-
served ; " she'd break her heart about all this. I know
she would."
ALL SORTS OF TREASON. 257
Paul thought the girl's heart must be colder than the
weather if it would not have that effect, and nodded his
approbation of Tom's sentiment.
* Katharine is getting stronger ; they talk of carrying
her off in a day or two," continued Tom. " I heard our
folks say so this morning."
Paul's great eyes dimmed with tears, then a quick pas-
sion turned them into fire.
" I could kill them," he said. " Yes, I could."
"'Twouldn't be no use," remarked Tom, sapiently;
" 'cause they'd only take you off too. I wish we could
do something, though — I wish we could."
"Can't we?" questioned Paul, his face kindling with
eagerness. " Oh, don't you think we could ?"
" You're such a little bit of a chap," Tom replied,
eyeing his companion, with a natural exultation at his
own superiority in point of inches and weight.
" I'm little," Paul said, " but I am very brave — oh,
you don't know! And Jube — Jube is strong like a
lion, he could do any thing."
" I wonder if she couldn't run away," Tom burst out,
quite overcome by his own inspiration. " I don't sup-
pose she could run, you know, but she might get away."
"And we could help," Paul said, his quick intelli-
gence seizing at once upon the suggestion ; " I am sure
we could."
" Why, my marm would kill me !" exclaimed Tom.
" Wouldn't I ketch it, oh, my !"
" You would beg and pray," said Paul ; " she could not
refuse — she would be willing."
" Wai, I guess we wouldn't ask her — 'tain't disobejan'
when you hain't been told not to do a thing, and nobody
can tell you what to do when they never heerd of it."
16
258 ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
Tom got dreadfully bewildered in his labyrinth of
negatives and Paul was unable to make much of his
speech, but he was certain that it harmonized with his
own ideas, even if he did fail to comprehend its entire
signification.
" We could help her," he kept repeating ; " I am sure
we*could."
" I do wonder what the squire would say ?" said Tom,
giggling at the very idea, although somewhat frightened
at its audacity. " Wouldn't there be a rumpus — oh, my
golly!"
He laughed outright, and Paul joined him from sym-
pathy with that merry face ; but he became thoughtful
again in a moment.
"You are certain they would take her away from
home and lock her up in that dark, lonesome place you
call a prison ?" he inquired.
" Sure as a gun. Par says so, and he knows the
squires and lawyers about here all to pieces ; but that
aint the worst of it, not by a jug full."
The good-hearted little fellow's voice began to choke
in his throat, and he burst into a laugh to keep from
sobbing outright.
" What can be worse than that ?" inquired Paul,
startled by his friend's demonstration.
" They'll kill her !"
Paul turned deadly pale. The horror in Tom's words
had struck him dumb.
" They'll hang her up on a gallows made of two high
posts, with a cross-bar on the top," continued Tom,
shuddering at his own words, " and a halter fastened to
the cross-bar, which they will tie round her pretty white
neck, that Rose used to hug so much."
ALL SORTS OF TREASON. 259
" Don't, oh, don't !" whispered Paul, putting up his
hands ; " it makes me tremble all over."
"And so it does me," cried Tom, dashing the tears
from his blue eyes. " But you ought to know it just as
it is, the burning brand and all."
"The burning brand — what is that?" asked Paul,
faintly.
" The hot iron that they stamp M — that's for mur-
derer, you know — on her hand !"
" Oh, me I" sighed Paul. " That petite white hand !"
" Sometimes the courts do that, and let 'em live in
Shnsbury all the rest of their lives. Sometimes they
hang 'em right up. I don't know which they'll do to
her."
" But they will do some of these awful things ?" ques-
tioned Paul, breathing as if he was chilled through with
the cold.
" Of course, they've got to do it. The law won't let
'em back out if they wanted to."
" Oh, dear, it makes me feel so wicked," cried Paiil,
brave thoughts kindling through the pallor of his face.
"I want to cry and strike somebody at the same time."
" Strike ! I want to maul some of 'em ! Oh, if them
courts was only little boys, and I the law, wouldn't they
come down on their marrow bones and beg her pardon
for thinking of such a thing. Besides, do you see,
Paul, I don't believe she killed the baby. Anyway,
them little creatures, with long flannel petticoats a hang-
ing over their feet, are always doing things to torment
grown folks, catching the rash, and measles, and chicken-
pox, to say nothing of a habit they get into of hiccuping
right in a feller's face when he's told to tend 'em. Ba-
bies! They're the only thing I ever raly had agin
260 ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
marm — she always would be keeping one on hand, just
for us to rock, and tend, and hush up. Par never would
make a fuss about it, as a man aught ter with such
goings on in the house."
" Perhaps he rather liked them !" suggested Paul.
" Liked 'em. Well, maybe he did, there's no saying ;
besides, they're well enough in their place, and that, ac-
cording to my notion, is sound asleep in the cradle.
Anyhow, what's the use of making sich a time about it
when one of 'em stops crying for good and all, and what
on airth could anybody think that ere young gal wanted
with one of 'em a tagging after her?"
"I don't know," replied Paul, tenderly; "but from
the way she looks at the empty cradle sometimes, it
seems to me as if she wanted it there very much."
" Of course she does. It's a way of the wimmen
folks have. I don't know about marm, for our cradle
never is empty ; but some wimmen make such fools of
themselves, it's enough to set a feller agin the whole
pack and boodle on 'em."
" You don't mean all the beautiful ladies," said Paul,
thinking sadly of his own sweet mother.
" There's marm — she's a purty good kind of a woman
after all, and Miss Mason, harnsome as a pictur. Then,
little Rose — oh, my ! don't you wish you could see her,
with her white aprons ruffled all around, and her long
curls, just like a wax doll. But then the generality of
'em — well, I don't want to say nothin'."
"That was a very nice little lady that gave me one
apple with the brown coat."
" She ? yes, she'll do ; but we're going off the handle,
you and I. What's the good of talking about the best
on 'em if Katharine Allen has got to be hung ! As I
ALL SORTS OF TREASON. 261
was a saying — when you would go on about wimmen
folks in gineral, as if I cared any thing about them — as
I was a saying, she never hurt that baby no more than
I did. It went off and buried itself up in the snow —
stealing Katy's shawl to wrap itself up in, then took
cold and went into a conniption fit just out <Jf spite.
Them little sojers are up to all sorts of tricks ; don't I
know 'em!"
" I am sure it died of its own accord," said Paul.
" Of course ; anybody but a squire would a found
that out long ago."
"And she would be much glad to have the little baby
back again."
" Wall, I don't know about that," said Tom, shaking
his head doubtfully ; " Katharine Allen's got some sense,
I reckon ; squalling must come unnatral in that ar house
— now I leave it to you."
" But they will hang her dead."
"No doubt about it."
" Or burn her poor petite hand."
" Both on 'em, for all what I know, without you and
I stand up to the rack like men, and tell the laws, and
squires, and constables to go to old scratch."
" What is old scratch ?"
"Well, I don't just know; but he's a feller that's
always about times like this."
" But hadn't we better let the laws, and the squires,
and all the rest alone, and try very much to help her?"
suggested Paul.
" In course we had ; I only threw them in sort of pro-
miscuous. Now I'll tell you what my idee is : Katharine
is getting stronger every day, you know."
" Yes," said Paul ; " she sat up in a chair this morn-
262 ALL SORTS OF TKEASON.
ing, and eat very little dejeuner — breakfast, I mean—
and the man — that great big man that sits on the hearth
always — said she was getting much strong, and the win-
dow is too near the ground — not safe."
" Did he say that ?" inquired Tom, breathlessly.
" Yes ; the man said that. Then madame — that is the
old mother — she look frightened very much, and said, no
take the poor sick child away too soon. Then the man
said up-stairs was best — high from ground, very sure."
" That's bad," muttered Tom. " Ladders are scarce
and heavy to lift."
"So," continued Paul, "they move my bed into
another room, and take up many things for her, because
the man thinks it sure."
"Well," cried Tom, coming out in force, '"what
can't be cured must be endured,' as par says. There
may be a ladder about Mrs. Allen's premises. To-mor-
row morning, when I come after you, we'll just take a
survey there. About that cuffy friend of yourn, I want
to have some talk with him. When there's ladders to be
used, I'm afraid you and I couldn't come quite up to
the scratch."
" But Jube, Jube he come right up to old scratch for
.us — very strong Jube — very brave, like lion."
" You're sartin that cuffy would do it ; that he
wouldn't slump through ?"
" What, Jube ? oh, yes, he do any thing I say ; very
good Jube, never slump."
" Well, then, we're a hull team, you and I and the
nigger. Yes, and a hoss to let. If we don't get Katy
Allen out of that end window, I don't know what's
what ; but, then, what are we to do with her when that's
done ?"
ALL SORTS OF TREASON. 263
Paul shook his head in sudden despondencj.
" Oh, dear, where can we go ?"
Tom folded his arms and drooped his head. Here
was a difficulty which he hadn't thought of before.
All at once Paul brightened up.
" We will take her to New York. If David Rice is
there he'll be very good, and so glad Jube and we did
it for his sister."
" Yes," cried Tom, " That's a genuine idee. I'll hook
par's yaller wagon and drive down to the sloop atween
two days, they'll never think of searching aboard a
sloop. But oh, golly, golly, here's a fix. It takes
money to travel in that ere genteel way, and I haint got
more'n a ninepence on earth."
" Money ?" cried Paul, eagerly. " What you call gold
with the king's head on it ?"
" I don't know about gold, never saw none of that ere
money. What I mean is silver with a spread-eagle on
one side and a woman's head on t'other."
" I am sure that gold is money," said Paul, recover-
ing from his first look of disappointment, "for Jube
gave it to the people as we came along, and they gave
him back silver like that you speak of, more pieces than
the gold, oh very much."
" And how much have 3rou got ?"
Paul put his delicate hands together.
" So much full, three, four, five times."
Tom emitted a low whistle. " Oh, golly, that's up to
chalk, and you're sartin the tavern keepers and cap-
tains gave you silver money for it ?"
" Sure I saw."
" And Jube will shell out — no mistake about that, ha ?"
"Jube what?"
264 ALL SORTS OF TREASON.
" '11 hand over," persisted Tom, counting imaginary
gold into Ms palm.
" What, give the money ?"
"Yes; chink!"
"Oh, yes — sure."
" Then we're sot up in business. Three stont fellers,
saddles lying about loose in some bam or other, yaller
wagon standing ready, harness chucked under the seat,
horses whinnering to be druv, and that ere poor gal
ready to jump out of the window when we say the word.
Now, Paul, this is just what you must do. Get the
nigger — I mean our friend Jube — for when a darkey has
his double hands full of chink to do as he pleases with,
he's got a right to be treated like folks, for that makes
him an individual ; get him ready to toe the mark when
we give the word. Jest tell her that Tom — she knows
me — is on hand, and working for her like sixty, and
just the minute she's well enough to cut, we'll have her
out of that winder. Then you sleep with one eye open,
and tell me every word that officer says."
" Yes," said Paul, " I'll do every thing ; but hadn't we
better say something to madam ?"
" Do you mean Mrs. Allen ?" answered Tom, dropping
his chin into the hollow of one hand, in a thoughtful
way. " No ; I should rather say not. She's got strict
notions about things, and might put the wrong spoke
into our wheel. Now, if I was going to tell anybody, it
would be the doctor ; he's clear grit, he is, and wouldn't
stop us if we run through his own home lot with that
ere gal. Ketch him telling."
By this time the boys were chilled through with stand-
ing in the wet and cold. Tom's teeth chattered in his
head as he uttered this encomium on the doctor, who
MRS. MASON AT II E R STUDIES. 265
was the most popular person among the juveniles in all
the neighborhood, and Paul shivered in his garments
like a tropical bird brought into the midst of a foreign
winter. Besides, the boys had conquered the brook,
which was storming its way to the river over a pile of
stones and rubbish, which he triumphantly pronounced
the finest dam that had ever been built on this side of
creation; and Tom, though a philosopher, philanthro-
pist, and hero, loved fun above all. So away he started,
shouting hurrah, and made a rush clear through the tur-
bulent waters of the brook, just to let the boys know
that he hadn't been shirking ; but amid all the noise
and fun, he resolved to be faithful to his young con-
federate, and only hold council with the true-hearted
negro.
As Paul went toiling up the hill that day, he saw
Jube coming toward him — a circumstance that often
happened on his way from school. How his beautiful
face kindled up at the sight of his friend. His pace
quickened, and the trouble went out from his eyes as he
held out the little, cold hand, in its wet mitten, for Jube
to lead him home, as usual.
Jube drew off the mitten, and took the chilled hand
in his broad palm, caressing it as if it had been a bird.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
MKS. MASON AT HER STUDIES.
SEVERAL months had passed since the arrival of Mrs.
Mason at the minister's house, in Bays Hollow.
266 MBS. MASON AT HER STUDIES.
During that time she had not been idle. When she
placed herself under the quiet lady's instruction, she had
announced that she wished to make all the progress
possible and turn every moment to account — truly, she
had done so.
Had the woman kept some good design in view,
the assiduity with which she labored would have done
her honor — as it was, vanity took the place of any bet-
ter motive and perhaps was the strongest incentive
which a nature like hers could have felt.
The facility with which she gained a knowledge of
things astonished the minister's wife, whose education
was thorough and solid, yet Mrs. Mason made far
more show with her little accomplishments than her in-
structress could with all her learning. She had an ex-
cellent verbal memory, was quick to seize every move-
ment or expression, and as Mrs. Prior was a true lady
she could not have had a better model.
Among the gifts with which Thrasher had presented
Mrs. Mason, there were many articles of which she did
not know the use or even the name, but nobody would
ever have dreamed it — she gained the knowledge so
adroitly from Mrs. Prior, that the little woman had
an unpleasant feeling that the wealthy Southerner con-
sidered her very ignorant, and desired to enlighten her.
She did wonders in her French lessons — she promised
to make a showy, dasMng performer upon the piano,
and her quick ear taught her speedily to regulate any
little inaccuracies of speech by the correct, although
sometimes formal language, of her companion.
Yet she carried it all off with so lofty an air, that her
teacher often felt that she was the only person in-
structed. She corrected herself with so much assurance
MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES. 267
and dignity that Mrs. Prior would color modestly,
almost inclined to believe that it was she who had been
guilty of false syntax, and that the stately lady opposite
had set her right with good-natured insolence.
In the'box of books which Thrasher sent Mrs. Mason,
there were a large number of novels, principally French,
and those she read with great avidity, although there
were many, after she began to read the language with
ease, which she did not think proper to display to the
criticism of her hostess.
The little parlor had assumed quite a different aspect
since the introduction of the piano and various articles
of furniture which Mrs. Mason ordered from New York.
Her own rooms were furnished with a degree of ele-
gance she had never seen equaled, yet from her manner
one would have thought she only endured their meagre-
ness with the condescension of one accustomed to a
very different state of affairs.
Little Rose grew prettier every day, and made her-
self happy, as was natural at her age. She became a
great favorite with Mrs. Prior, and even with the
dreary clergyman. But beyond a certain point, Mrs.
Mason would not permit any intimac}7 to extend. She
was jealous of Rose's affection for the worthy pair, as
she would have been at the idea of sharing love with
any one.
Neither the minister nor his wife were able to under-
stand the character of their inmate, but they felt a sort
of repulsion in regard to her which it was impossible
to overcome, although they reproached themselves as
if they had been guilty of a deadly sin, but after all
their struggles they sunk back into the same unpleasant
state of mind.
268 MBS. MASON AT HER STUDIES.
The minister really felt uneasy while going through
family worship in her presence ; not that she appeared
irreverent, on the contrary, she was as strict in her per-
formance of such duties as the rest of the house, but
she acted all the while as if she were doing a great favor
to all concerned, even to the Being to whom she prayed.
Mrs. Prior knew very well that her pupil had not al-
ways been in possession of the wealth which was evi-
dently then under her control ; yet, as weeks wore on,
and Mrs. Mason grew more stylish and elegant, the little
woman almost began to think that her first impressions
had been false and impertinent ; that, on the whole,
the lady had no need of instruction, and only gave her-
self to study from the whim of the moment.
Every little graceful, lady-like way, every pretty habit
of voice or manner which the minister's wife possessed,
did Mrs. Mason assume, only she carried it off in such a
showy manner that it appeared an original grace of her
own, and which Mrs. Prior was imitating in a modest
fashion and with indifferent success. In fact, it really
seemed more as if the minister's wife were a sort of
humble pattern of her dashing companion than as if
Mrs. Mason had ever gained a hint from her.
One day the household was thrown into a gentle sort
of confusion by the arrival of a visitor for Mrs. Mason.
He was an elegant and handsome man as Mrs. Prior
could have desired to see ; but she shrunk instinctively
from him as she had always done from her guest.
The minister's wife left this strange man in the little
parlor, and went up to tell Mrs. Mason that some one
desired to see her.
" Who, if you please ?" the lady asked, negligently
turning from her book, as if troops of visitors had been
MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES. 269
an every-day occurrence in her life, and were rather a
bore than otherwise.
" Mr. Thrasher," replied the little person, still in a
flutter.
" I will be down presently," was the answer ; but still
Mrs. Mason did not rise from her seat, or lift her eyes
from the book upon which they had again fallen.
The door closed behind the bewildered lady; then
Mrs. Mason sprang from her seat and began a hasty, but
careful toilet.
At the beginning of her residence in that house, Mrs.
Mason would have obscured and vulgarized her beauty
by dress and ornaments unsuitable to the hour or place.
Mrs. Prior's remarks and her own observations had
already made her much wiser.
When she turned from the glass, there was an expres-
sion of triumph upon her face which plainly betrayed a
consciousness of her own surpassing beauty.
She went down-stairs, opened the door of the room
where Thrasher sat, and glided in as self-possessed and
elegant as any city belle of three seasons, and a more
dashingly beautiful woman you would not find in a day's
journey.
He started forward to meet her, his face flushed and
lighted up with excitement.
He caught Mrs. Mason's hand between both his own
and faltered out an almost timid greeting, very unlike
the usual boldness of his manner.
"Are you well ?" he asked. " Have you been well and
contented ?"
"A fine question, truly !" she replied, putting aside
his eagerness with a sort of unconcern very well as-
sumed, and which evidently displeased and pained him.
270 MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES.
"As if any one could be contented shut up in a bird-
cage."
" Have you been anxious to go away ?" he questioned,
as if hoping to derive some comfort from her answer.
" I have not thought much about it ; I find one thing
which pleases me greatly."
"And that ?"
" Nobody interferes with me ; I can do just what I
like."
He frowned, although he appeared more troubled than
annoyed.
" Good gracious !" she exclaimed, with an affected
laugh. " What a face of greeting for a man to wear —
one might think you were a jailor, come to announce
that the day of my execution was at hand."
He dropped her wrist and turned away; she sank
negligently into a chair, in the very attitude she had
admired in a picture of some forgotten French mar-
chioness, which embellished one of her favorite novels.
" I did not expect a welcome like this," he said, bit-
terly.
Mrs. Mason looked at him with an expression of sur-
prise which an actress might have envied, and laughed
again, not the hearty, ringing merriment of old time,
but a low, subdued sound, which did her infinite credit
" In what have I been amiss ?" she asked, coolly.
" I thought, at least, you would be glad to see me."
" Oh, did you ? Upon my word, the vanity of man-
kind is beyond all belief! Certainly, I am glad to see
you" — he brightened at that — "quite so," she added,
with such carelessness that he looked more anno}-cd
than before.
" This is abominable !" he exclaimed. " Ellen, I would
not have believed that you could treat me so."
MRS. MASON AT HER STUDIES. 271
" Have you come here to lecture and find fault ?" she
asked, gajdy. "Are you sure that you have not made a
mistake — wasn't it -Rose you wished to scold ?"
" I did not come to find fault, Ellen. For weeks I
have been crazy to see you ; nothing but your express
commands kept me away ; at last you wrote that I might
come ; I hurried here, and now you are as cold and dis-
tant as if I were a stranger."
" Poor boy, poor boy !"
She patted the hand which he had laid upon the arm
of her chair, very much as if it had been a pet lapdog.
Thrasher looked at her, overpowered by astonishment.
Where had she learned those arts — that playful manner ?
He had desired her to educate and improve herself in
every way ; but here was a change beyond any thing he
could have expected.
"How handsome you have grown," he said, suddenly.
" You might as well tell me at once that I was a plain
person before."
" You know I always thought you handsomer than
any woman I had ever seen ; but you are really beautiful
now."
Mrs. Mason smiled ; her insatiable vanity was grati-
fied by his words and the glance of admiration that en-
forced them.
" Would you like to see Rose ?" she asked
" Certainly ; very much."
272 SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
MRS. MASON stepped into the hall, and called the little
girl, who came bounding gayly in ; but when she saw
Thrasher, an expression of dislike, beyond her years,
crossed her face, and she clung to her mother's side, as
if for protection.
" Won't you come and speak to me, Rose ?" he asked.
.Rose only clung closer to her mother, and hid her
head in her dress.
" Go and speak to Mr. Thrasher, child," said Mrs.
Mason. " How foolish you are."
" Come, Rose, and see what I ha^ve got for you," he
added ; " such a pretty present."
"I don't want any present," replied the child, her
voice sounding smothered and choked.
Thrasher looked so much displeased, that Mrs. Mason
angrily commanded the little girl to go and shake hands
with him, though all the while she had an evident enjoy-
ment of his discomfiture.
" Do as I bid you, Rose, or I will shut you up for the
day. Go, I am very angry with you."
Thus commanded, the child raised her head, and
walked slowly toward Thrasher, still keeping her face
averted.
He took her hand, spoke pleasantly, and tried to kiss
her, but that she would by no means permit.
"Are you sorry I have come, Rose ?" he asked.
" Yes," she replied, honestly.
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY. 273
"And you wont kiss me ?"
" No ; you can get me whipped if you want to, but it
wont do any good. I wont kiss anybody but my own
pa when he comes."
" Rose, Rose !" expostulated her mother, losing a
little of her bright color.
" Obedience does not appear to be one of her virtues,"
Thrasher said, smiling even through his agitation.
" I never saw her behave so before," replied Mrs.
Mason ; " she is generally very tractable. Go out of the
room, Rose, and don't speak to me again to-day."
The child broke away from Thrasher, and ran out of
the room with a loud burst of sobs, leaving them both
disconcerted.
" You should not have allowed her to dislike me so,
Ellen," he said, after an instant.
" Dear me, I cannot control the child's fancies. Do
you think the whole world must be in love with you ?"
" I should be satisfied if I only felt certain that you
cared for me," repl^d Thrasher, earnestly.
She rose and gave him a look of coquettish defiance.
"Where are you going ?" he asked.
" To call Mrs. Prior."
" What for, I should like to know ?"
" To bring you back to your senses, of course."
" You will drive me out of them !" he exclaimed, catch*
ing her hand. " Do listen to me, Ellen."
" Yes ; well — I am listening."
" Tell me that you love me — even yet I cannot feel
certain — you are so restless, so capricious. "
" Certainly I had better call Mrs. Prior."
"Hang Mrs. Prior."
11
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
" That would be very cruel ; besides, I should lose my
French teacher."
" Let us start for Paris. You can finish your studies
there."
" Thank you ; I am quite comfortable where I am. I
believe I am afraid of the water."
" You 1 the bravest woman I ever met !"
" But I have reason to dread the sea."
This time there was no affectation in the shudder with
which she broke off — her husband's memory for a
moment pierced even her vanity and egotism like a
blow. Thrasher grew pale with jealousy and a thousand
feelings more painful still.
" Let us think only of the future," he said.
" Well, what of that ?" she asked, forcing those sad
thoughts aside, and becoming gay . and selfish once
more.
"Why should we wait for its happiness?" he con-
tinued. " I am rich, far richer than you guess. We
are both young. Marry me at oqpe, Ellen, and let us
go away in search of pleasure and new scenes."
" N"ot yet," she answered. " I cannot."
"Why should we wait ?"
" I will not be married until the year is up," she re-
plied, more seriously.
"You will die in this stupid place."
"I am used to quiet."
" But now you have had a glimpse of another life ; you
know what money can do for you ; your books have
told you what a delightful life we might lead in France
or Italy."
" That may be, but "
" What ? You torment me on ptirpose to enjoy my
distress 1 What were you going to say ?"
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY. 275
" I am not certain that I had better make any change
in my life."
"Not make any change! Do you mean to treat me
as if I were a child ?"
" What a look ! A reasonable woman would certainly
hesitate about placing herself in the power of a man
with such a dreadful temper."
" You need have no fear on that score," he replied,
subduing his passion. " Nowhere in the world, Ellen,
could you find a man so devoted and patient as I would
be. Remember how long I have loved you "
"Now you are reminding me of my age."
"You are not old enough yet to dislike thinking
of it."
"Well, what were you saying?"
Thrasher returned, and stood directly before her.
"Ellen," he said, firmly; " I will not be trifled with —
I must have an answer."
She looked up a little startled, thinking, perhaps, she
had carried her coqudlry too far, but when she saw how
troubled he looked, ho\v his eyes sunk under her own,
she became certain again of her own power over him,
and with that security a desire to tease came back.
" I am not your slave," she replied ; " how dare you
address me in that tone ?"
" I did not mean to offend you."
" But you have offended me seriously ; if yon only
came here to play the tyrant, I would advise you to re-
turn at once."
It took many moments to make his peace, not that
she was in the slightest degree offended, but to a woman
of her character there is always great pleasure in the
exercise of authority, no matter how petty it may be.
276 SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
" Then you will not promise to set my mind at rest ?"
he asked, after a short period of more serious conver-
sation.
She shook her head.
" I do not see why you should be otherwise than at
rest now."
" You know I am not, Ellen ; you know that I cannot
be. At least name some period when my suspense shall
end."
"Not now; the next time you come, perhaps."
She could not bear to relinquish the pleasure of tor-
tur.ng him. Her own heart was so little touched that
she could have no pity for his troubles ; indeed, it seemed
somewhat to appease the few reproaches which haunted
her, in spite of her vanity and selfishness, to occasion
him uneasiness and pain.
" When I come a second time you will put me off with
some new pretext," he said, angrily.
" Then you cannot take my word ? Yery well ; if you
will not believe me, what can I dorf"
"I have never doubted you, Ellen."
" Indeed you have had no reason to think about it
either way," she replied, carelessly; "we were nothing
to each other more than common acquaintances."
" You know that I have loved you for years — that I
have given up my home, my profession — have endured
and suffered every thing on your account."
" I would not give much for affection which would be
unwilling to do that much," she retorted.
" I was willing," he said ; "but at least now, let there
be an end to all this — tell me when you will become
my wife ?"
"When I am accomplished enough to set up for a
lady."
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY. 277
" That you were always."
"He used to call me so," she replied, with a shade of
sadness.
Thrasher turned pale.
"Don't speak of him in my presence, Ellen; it is
cruel."
" To his memory, yes," she answered, with real bitter-
ness in her voice.
Thrasher sat down irritated and pale. " Ellen," he
said, " it would be far better if you would consent to
take a voyage and be married at once in France or
Italy. I am restless in this country — it is hard to
breathe the same air with one's parents — and such
parents, Ellen, without sometimes wishing to see them."
" I thought you wished to give them up as I was
willing to put away all the friends who had been kind
to me," answered the heartless woman. " How else
could you or I hope to enjoy our new life ? Besides, it
was your own proposal ; I never asked you to sacrifice
the old folks — merely said something of how much out
of place they might DO, and how provoking their ways
would become in a house like that we were building in
the clouds."
" In reality, Ellen, the house I talked of shall be
nothing to the palace I am building for my queen."
Mrs. Mason's eyes flashed triumphantly.
" I am half tempted," she said.
" Ah, my love, be wholly tempted !" he pleaded, with
genuine tenderness in his voice. "No woman ever
was worshipped as you shall be."
"Ah, but one gets tired of worship."
"No queen upon her throne shall have more ad-
mirers "
278 SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
" But you'll be jealous as a Turk. I am sure of that."
" Try me, but do not put me off in this cruel fashion.''
"Well, Thrasher," she said, seriously enough, "get
every thing ready, and I'll take the time into considera-
tion; but one thing is positive, we must be married
here, in this country, in this State of Connecticut. I
will have no question or mistake about that. The laws
of other States, and particularly of other countries,
may be different, but I know what they are here."
" I would rather be married abroad, Ellen," was the
agitated reply, " for many reasons."
" But I will be married in the State of Connecticut,
or not at all."
Thrasher bent his head, and the woman saw, with
astonishment, that all the color left his face. It scarcely
excited her suspicion, but the wanton cruelty of her
nature came back, and she gave a little, mocking laugh.
" Perhaps you are afraid that our pretty Katy may
hear of it, and put in a protest ?"
" What do you mean, woman ?"%ied Thrasher, start-
ing to his feet.
The widow drew herself up in magnificent displeasure
"Woman, indeed."
Thrasher sat down, with his eyes fixed keenly on her.
"What did you mean, Ellen?" he said, more quietly.
" What did I mean ? When you can look and talk
like a gentleman, perhaps I may admit that there was
no meaning at all in what I said, only that girl was dead
in love with you, Thrasher, or I don't know what love
is."
" We will let her alone, if you please," he answered,
with a manner that checked her flippancy. " The poor
girl is nothing to us."
SETTLING THE WEDDING DAY.
" I should hope not," replied the widow, with a dis-
dainful motion of her head. " In my poorest days I
was always above that sort of people ; and remember,
Thrasher, when we are married — if I ever could make
up my mind to it, you know — these old neighbors must
be kept at a distance."
"Have I not promised? Is it not decided that we
go by my Christian name after that ?"
" Yes, I remember something was said about it. A
good idea. That will be cutting them off root and
branch, old folks and all ; besides, Mrs. Nelson has a
refined sound."
Thrasher sighed heavily.
"Yes," he said, " we shall be alone in the world then,
you and I."
" But we shall go out of our old world and find a new
one," she answered, proudly. " Millionaires are never
alone."
" How worldly you are getting ! But it becomes
you."
" Worldly ? No, only wise ! But we are staying here
a long time ; Mrs. Prior will wonder what it is all for,
and Rose will cry her eyes out, poor thing."
" You wish me to go ?" he said, in a mortified tone.
" Why, yes ; one must not risk a good name among
strangers. It is something a little unusual for me to
receive gentlemen."
" I am glad of that, Ellen."
" Oh, I have no desire for visitors of either sex."
"But when may I come for good? I must know
that."
" Well, I cannot tell the exact time, but it shall be
within a few months ; weeks, perhaps, if you are good."
280 A DOUBLE GUARD.
" Then it shall be. You promise that ?" he said, kind-
ling with delight.
"Yes, Thrasher, I promise now. Only give me time,"
and she held out her hand, he kissed it, and went away.
CHAPTER XXXYIII.
A DOUBLE GUARD.
IT was true the officer had insisted that Katharine
should be removed to one of the upper chambers. She
was gradually recovering strength, and though he had
not the heart to propose her removal to prison, the dan-
gers of escape became more apparent each hour. At
last he suggested the only means of safety that pre-
sented itself — Katharine must be confined in the upper
story, from whence flight would* be difficult, unless
assistance should come from without, a thing that he
considered more than improbable.
Mrs. Allen made no resistance to these arrangements,
for well the poor mother knew that all protest would be
in vain. In some respects she preferred the change. It
would remove Katharine from the sight of her jailor
whenever the door of her room was opened ; a presence
that had become unspeakably oppressive of late. She
seemed afraid of understanding what it meant, but
every time his face passed by, or his shadow appeared
on the wall, a terror came into her eyes, and she would
look wistfully out, as you have seen a poor little rabbit
peering with his great brown eyes through the trap
A DOUBLE GUARD. 281
some cruel boy had baited for him when the snow
covered all other food.
Mrs. Allen had seen this with an aching heart. The
man who usurped her own high-backed chair, with his
feet stretched out stolidly on the hearth, watching the
door of her child's room, had become a torment to her,
patient and undemonstrative as she was. So the room
was prepared, and in gentle silence Katharine took
possession of it. She had no courage to question her
mother, but shrunk with sensitive pain from the truth,
harassed with fears, yet dreading to have them con-
firmed.
The mother, too, shrunk from the subject, which was
forever lying cold at her heart. What good would it
do were she to place all the hideous danger before her
child ? The law would strike hard enough when its
time came ; she had no heart to help it by a word.
They were very silent together, those two wretched
women, for — with the one subject that filled their exist-
ence held in abeyance — what could they talk about ?
But the mother grew so gentle, so exquisitely loving,
that some gleams of joy broke through their misery ;
still, the tenderness of this affection almost broke her
child's heart. It was the offshoot of a great sorrow,
which had softened the stern character of the mother,
and lifted the young girl into sudden womanhood. The
hour of maternity, be it in joy or grief, breaks down all
the barriers of age, and, as in this case, the extremes
of womanhood meet with some degree of equality.
But a painful apprehension was always at Katharine's
heart. No one told her the terrible fate of which that
man, sitting forever on her mother's hearth, was the har-
binger, but the the truth pressed vaguely upon her un-
282 A DOUBLE GUARD.
derstanding, and her solitude was a perpetual terror.
She grew keen in her observation. She searched even
the mournful eyes of little Paul and the grieved features
of Jube, in her silent quest after the knowledge she
had no courage to claim in words.
Now two men kept guard in the room below. Their
prisoner was getting strong, and more vigilance became
advisable.
The night that this double guard was set upon her,
Katharine could not sleep, for the two men conversed in
low voices that penetrated to her chamber, and tortured
every nerve in her body. What evil things were they
saying in those muffled tones ? Perhaps talking about
her babe ? What would they do with her in the end ?
Dark ideas of the terrible truth came slowly over her.
She was seized with an uncontrollable wish to hear what
it was that kept her jailors in such close conversation.
Shivering with dread, yet filled with a sort of wild
courage, she arose and crept from her room down-stairs.
A door opened from the stairway into the kitchen — it
was left slightly ajar — and through the crevice came a
gleam of light from a candle that stood on the mantle-
piece. Katharine sunk down on the lowest step and
listened keenly.
"Yes," said one of the men, "it's a settled thing —
they'll take her off in the morning. Tough, though,
aint it."
" Does the old woman know it?"
" I reckon not ; the constable says he can't find the
heart to tell her till the last minute."
" What will they do with her in the end ? Have you
any idea ?"
" Well, law's law, you know, and I calculate the3r'll
hang the poor critter.'-'
A DOUBLE GUARD. 288
"No!"
" Sartin ; the constable was saying so at the hill store
only yesterday. The strangling," says he, "might a
been got over ; but that burying of the poor little
critter in the snow was the pint that no lawyer could
ixplain."
" Yes ; that allus stops a feller's mouth when he sets
out to defend her, and yet — "
" What was you a saying?"
"And yet I can't bleave she really did it.';
" It's unnatural ; but facts are facts."
" Poor critter ; I wonder if she's told any thing about
its father yet. The feller ought to be hung fifty times
where she had once."
" I reckon not ; the old woman said that her daughter
was married, at the examination, but she would not name
the man, and people were left to guess."
" Was it Nelson Thrasher, do you really think ?
" There's no telling, and maybe it wont come out till
court day."
"And when it does, what'll the law do with him ?"
" Well, I aint quite sure ; but suppose it would be
brought in preup terus criminus ; that is, 'complice
'fore the act."
"You don't say so. Then it'll be a hanging matter
for him, too ?"
" Sure as Sunday."
" But how will they find him ? Maybe, Katharine
wont inform."
" Oh, she'll tell ; women always do."
The poor young mother behind the door was quaking
with fear, and chilled through and through with the cold.
Her teeth chattered so loudly that she lost the next few
words ; hut those that followed were horrible enough.
284 OUT IN THE NIGHT.
" Did you ever see a person hung ?"'
"Yes ; once."
"Wall!"
" Don't ask me about it ; the rope broke, and — "
" Hark I wasn't that a voice ?"
"No ; it's one of the icicles falling from the eaves."
" It seemed to come from the stairs, I thought ; sup-
pose we look."
" Oh, be still. It's the ice, I tell you. Just hand me
a drink of that ginger cider. This talk about hanging
makes the cold chills run over me."
There was a moment's silence, then a deep, satisfied
breath, and the jingle of a pewter mug as it was set
down between the andirons.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
OUT IN THE DEPTHS OP THE NIGHT.
How she got to her room, Katharine never knew ; but
little Paul sat with his back to the door which led from
her chamber to his, and heard faint shudderings with
that icy sound which had disturbed the men, for a long
time after she entered the room. It troubled him so
much at last that he went into the outer garret and
sought Jube, who stood like a bronze statue by a win-
dow in the gable.
" Jube, I'm sure that she is up now, you can hear her
tremble through the door."
Jube put a finger to his lip, and lifting Paul in his
OUT IN THE NIGHT. 285
arms, pointed through the window. The end of a ladder
rested against the sill, and Tom sat perched on one of
the upper rounds, motioning to Jube that he must stoop
down and help him in.
The moment after he stood in a broad space of moon-
light that paved the garret, whispering eagerly :
" I've come before the time, I have, and hain't got a
sign of a wagon nor sleigh; for, consarn him, par
locked the stable door to-night, the first time he ever did
it in his life, I'm a'most sartin. But it's got to be done.
Them constables will be arter her to-morrow, sartin.
We'll get her out somehow this very night, and trust to
luck arterward."
" What shall we do ?" inquired Paul, full of generous
courage. Jube has got the gold."
" That's half," answered Tom, promptly. " Now, Paul,
you go into the room and tell her to get right up and
huddle on all the furs, and cloaks, and things that she's
got, and tell her to be still as twenty mice. Them chaps
below are as wide awake as nighthawks. I've been
watching 'em through the winder since twelve o'clock ;
but they've just begun to pitch into the hot ginger and
cider, and that'll put 'em to sleep, sure."
" But if she wont come ?" said Paul.
" Wont ? she must, or stay here and be oh, I
can't bear to think of it. Now get along, Paul, and do
as I tell you."
Paul went softly into Katharine's room. She was
sitting on the bed in her long nightgown, cold and still,
frozen, as it were, in the moonlight, which fell over her
from a near window.
Paul shrunk back at first, her face looked so deathly ;
but he found courage, and took the cold hands that lay
clasped on her lap.
286 OUT IN T*H E NIGHT.
"What he said in those low, eager whispers, the boy
himself scarcely knew; but after the first words she
bent down, listening greedily. Friends in the outer
room, a ladder at the window, money to take her from
that guarded house, life, liberty, away from the terrible
shadow of those men, clear from that gaunt horror
which they talked about so calmly. Yes, she would go.
Life was very sweet, and she so young. Out to sea in
a vessel bound for a long voyage. Thus, she would in
time meet her husband, whose name her silence had
saved from disgrace. She began to love herself for this
thought, and, gathering fresh energy, put on her outer
garments.
Paul went into the garret and told his friends that
Katharine was getting ready. His voice was raised
imprudently, it penetrated to a room at the other end
of the garret, and might have disturbed the guards, but
their deep potations at the warm cider had, as Tom pre-
dicted, thrown them into a sound sleep.
All this while Mrs. Allen had been lying in the
back of her daughter's bed with her face to the wall.
The wearying effect of nights without sleep and days
of harassing labor lay heavily upon her. At most times
she was a sound sleeper, but now it seemed as if death
itself had taken possession of her faculties. She knew
nothing of Katharine's absence from the room — nothing
of Paul's entrance, but the first cold touch of the fugi-
tive's hand was enough. The gray eyes opened wildly
in the moonlight, and she started up in bed.
Katharine stood before her fully dressed, and with
some heavy dark garment in her hand. Mrs. Allen
heard Paul speaking in the garret outside, and compre-
hended the scene.
OUT IN THE NIGHT. 287
" Mother, I am going. They want to kill me ; I am
innocent, and have a right to my life. I am going
away, mother."
The whispers in which Katharine spoke were broken,
and came gasping from her lips. Mrs. Allen started
from the bed and began to put on her clothes.
" Yes," she muttered, wildly, " I have thought of this
night and day. One does not see a lamb go to the
slaughter without a wish to help it. The child of one's
old age is better than a lamb. I said to myself, if the
instincts of innocence lead her to it, she shall escape.
She has forfeited nothing — her life is her own — God
gave it to her, and God will instruct her how to keep
it."
Tom opened the door, and came into the room on
tiptoe.
" Hush ! don't, Mrs. Allen. We can hear you a mut-
tering clear into the garret. Them men down-stairs
love cider, but they ain't moles. Just give 'em a
chance, and they'll be after us full split afore you know
it— hish !"
Mrs. Allen did not speak again, but took a heavy
cloak from the wall and folded it over the garments
which she had just put on. She took Katharine's hand
in her own firm grasp, and led her into the garret. The
gable window was open, and a cold, sharp wind came
sweeping through, while the moonlight thus let in fell
half across the garret.
Jube was on the ladder outside, waiting. Paul stood
aside from the light, but the eager fire of his eyes could
be seen even in the darkness. The mother and child
were half way across the garret, when Katharine broke
away suddenly, and went back, her face uplifted, as if
288 OUT IN THE NIGHT.
she were counting the rafters. She disappeared in the
gloom, and her hand made a creaking noise, as it
passed along the torn shingles projecting themselves
from one of the rafters. But she darted back into the
moonlight with a scrap of paper in her hand, which
rustled to the wind like a dead leaf.
" I am ready now, mother," she whispered.
"Histl he! he!"
It was like the lowest hiss of a serpent, the sound
with which Tom warned his allies, and signified that all
was ready.
Mrs. Allen lifted her daughter in both arms, held her
one moment in a clinging embrace, then passed her
through the window, and leaned out till Jube stood
with her at the foot of the ladder. After that, she fol-
lowed, while Paul and Tom crept after, noiselessly as
shadows.
" Come this way," said Tom. " It's a glare of ice all
around, but I scattered ashes along here, so keep straight
ahead, while I take a peep, and see if them old chaps
are sleeping yet."
The little group drew close together, and moved
quickly along the path which Tom had made safe with
wood ashes. Directly that youngster joined them, chuck-
ling to himself, and rubbing his yarn mittens gleefully
together.
" They're in for it ! Oh, Miss Allen, that cider of
your'n must be scrumptious stuff. They've drunk up
the hull bilin of it, and there the great pewter mug lies
atween 'em, upsot on the harth, a little gingery stream
a running and a hissing from it into the fire. There
they set, each of 'em, with his legs half way across the
harth, and the toes of his boot a sticking up, sliding off
OUT IN THE NIGHT. 289
from them chairs till their boots eenaraost touch, and
each on 'em has got his head pitched forward and his
face hid in his bosom, and snoring like all nature. Oh,
Paul, I'd a gin the world to have boo-hood right out as
loud as I wanted to."
All this was said in a loud whisper that sounded
sharp and distinct on the frosty air, but no one heeded
it. The two women hurried forward in dead silence ;
Paul and Jube went before, making a path, for they had
turned into the field, and had instinctively crept within
the shadow of the stone wall which Katharine had
fled along on that fearful day. They were fast approach,
ing the old butternut tree, when Katharine, whose
breath had come quick and short with each step, reeled
and fell back against the wall.
" I can't go this road," she gasped, pointing to the
butternut tree, which flung its gaunt skeleton shadow
far out on the snow. " Take me any road but this."
Tom, who had been running along in the moonlight,
came up, speaking for the first time in his full voice.
" That's right ; we may as well stop and make up our
minds what to do next, as Robinson Crusoe did when
he reached that ere uninhabited island ; for the old
soger warn't much wuss off than we are, I reckon,
'specially now that we've got another woman 'tached
onto the consarn."
" She's ill, the poor mademoiselle," whispered Paul.
" No, no — we havn't time for that ere ; tell her she
mustn't think of it."
" Mother," whispered Katharine, "take me away I It
seems as if my ghost had been here before."
Mrs. Allen drew close to her child and tried to shelter
IS
290 OUT IN THE NIGHT.
her alike from the cold and a sight of that gaunt old
tree.*
" What shall we do next ?" inquired Tom, feeling the
•want of some efficient counsellor. " Miss Allen, as
you've kinder broke into this ere concern without asking,
I give up being leader, 'specially not knowing what on
'arth to do. I've sot her free, and that's glory enough
for one little feller, so now I throw up and consign."
Mrs. Allen gathered Katharine closer in her arms,
and looking in the boy's face, strove to comprehend the
position in which they were placed.
" Tell me what it was you hoped to do for my daugh-
ter," she said, gently. " I know nothing more than that
she was ready to escape, and I followed. The idea was
in my dreams, and we are here. Was there any place
you had in view where she could be safe ?"
"Yes, marm, there was," answered Tom. "Jube and
Paul can tell you all about it. We got it up together,
us three. I meant to have brought par's boss and
wagon, but the old man locked 'em up. Besides, we
did not mean to go into it till to-morrow night, only the
constable let out as he'd take her off in the morning, so
we had to come right up to the rack, ready or not ; and
now we are free and independent. But where to go ?
that ere is the question."
Mrs. Allen uttered a low groan ; the frail form in her
arms grew heavier and heavier. The desperate course
they had taken presented itself to her mind in all its
hopelessness.
" Oh, my God, must I take her back ?" she moaned,
lifting her face to heaven.
"Has madame no friends — no house where made-
moiselle could hide one little day ?" said Paul. " Jube
OUT IN THE NIGHT. 291
has gold, great deal of gold, that people in this country
like very much. People that have much gold can run
away — Tom says that — oh, very far. We will take
mademoiselle to Monsieur Rice ; he ve^ strong, like
Jube ; nobody touch him — never dare."
"Yes, marm," struck in Tom. " The sloop which goes
out of New Haven twice a week, sails Saturday. Jube's
got lots and lots of chink. Just send him to Dave
Rice ; he's the fellow to tell the constable what's what
— he is."
Mrs. Allen gathered in the whole plot, and her clear
judgment saw at once that it was the only means of
escape left for her child. The attempt, which had
seemed a moment before so rash, took consistency and
wisdom in her mind. God himself seemed to have pro-
vided the means of escape for her child.
" Well, now, what do you think it's best to do ?" asked
Tom, flattered by her grave attention. " You are the
gineral now; I'm only a soger."
" May the God of heaven bless you, my brave boy,"
said the mother, with deep feeling.
Tom hastily wiped the cuff of his jacket across his
eyes.
" Don't, Miss Allen ; don't say that ere ; 'cause, you
know, I was kinder diserbaying my parents, and I'm
afeared he'll remember to set one agin t'other, and I
might git the worst of it."
Mrs. Allen looked around along the dreary road.
" Is there no one of all our neighbors who would shel-
ter us for one night ?" she cried.
" Mother," said Katharine, struggling from her arms
and trying to stand up, " his father. I will go to him.
It was his wish. I will go to his home. Where else
should a wife ask shelter?"
292 OUT IN THE NIGHT.
Mrs. Allen drew a heavy breath.
" Come, mother, come."
"Where is it you have an idea of going?" inquired
Tom, forgetting that he had resigned all command of
the party, and was only a "soger."
" Up yonder," answered Mrs. Allen ; " we will ask
them to hide us for one night, in the barn, or anywhere."
" Us ? you say us ?" persisted Tom, shaking his head.
" Now I'm only a soger, you know, Mrs. Allen, but if I
had the lead yet, I'd jest observe that one is easier hid
than two. If them fellers get up, and find the house
empty, they'll search like blazes, and the fust thing after
daylight ; but if you're there to get 'em a warm break-
fast, and Jube's on hand to pile on the wood, they'd
kinder be content, and not ask about anybody else
mebby till noon."
"You are right," said the mother. "Let me know
that she is safe and I will go home again. My child',
can you walk ?"
" Yes, mother."
" No, no ; she trembles. Let Jube carry her — he is
so strong," said Paul.
Jube came forward with his brawny arms extended.
Mrs. Allen gave up her child, and she was carried away
so swiftly that the boys were compelled to run in order
to keep up with the negro, but Mrs. Allen walked close
to him, never faltering or pausing to draw breath till
the whole group stood in front of Mr. Thrasher's
house.
Jube sat Katharine quietly down upon the snow,
where she stood gazing wistfully toward the house, till
her mother reminded her that there was no time to
spare.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD. 203
" Leave me," said the poor creature, "leave me here,
mother. I would rather go in alone — quite alone — it
will be easier."
Mrs. Allen hesitated, but Tom came up with one of
his clinching arguments.
"It's nigh on to morning, Mrs. Allen, and we are
only doing her hurt. If she goes in alone they wont
have the heart to send her off, but if we all stand here
ready to go farther, they'd tell us to keep on just as
like as not.-"
"He is right, mother," said Katharine, faintly.
" Give me one kiss — God will help me — have no fear."
The old woman pressed her cold lips to that still
colder face, and went away, looking mournfully behind,
from time to time, until a bend of the road took her
out of si^ht.
CHAPTER XL.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD.
THE old couple were in bed, but not sleeping. Since
the return of their son, weary, broken nights and
most anxious days had marked the lives of these blame-
less people. It had been very hard to part with their
son when he almost seemed domesticated with them.
It had been hard to expect him back, day after day,
and al\va3rs with keen disappointment following the
morning's hope. But more bitter than all was the news
that had reached them within the last few days. Nel-
son had sailed again — sailed on a long voyage into those
294: TAKEN IN FKOM THE COLD.
seas which take the youth out of a man before he
returns.
How could they help being wakeful ? Were they not
worse than childless ? Of the grave they knew some-
thing— its length, its depth, and how long it required
for the green turf to spring up and draw the uncouth
mound back into the loving bosom of nature. But
what did they know of those far off waters where ships
were lost in immensity, and fishes of monstrous size
tempted men away from their homes. A whaling voy-
age— that was like a life banishment to an old couple
who had so many gray hairs on their temples.
! They could not sleep, though each kind heart strove
to cheat the other — both were wakeful and miserably
anxious.
" Father ?"
The old man would not speak, but drew a long,
heavy breath, which smothered a sigh, while it was in-
tended to deceive the good soul into a belief of his
sound slumber.
" Father, I say ?"
Still he would not answer, for the poor mother had
got a habit of keeping herself awake with midnight
conversations in these days, and he was determined to
put it down with masterly inactivity.
" Dear old man, I'm glad he can sleep so sound," she
murmured, rising softly to her elbow and putting the
gray locks back from his forehead, which she kissed with
infinite tenderness. " It's a shame to wake him up."
The old man turned softly, and said with inward con-
trition, " I am awake, wife."
" Father, I think there's some one knocking at the
window."
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD. 295
The old man lifted his head, and listened.
" Mrs. Thrasher ! oh, Mrs. Thrasher, wont you let me
in?"
There was a moan of anguish in the words that struck
to the heart at once. The •Id man held his breath,
while the wife clung to him with her head lifted from
the pillow.
" It's her, it's Katy Allen," she whispered.
The old man slipped out of bed and hurried on his
clothes. She, good soul, followed him, groping for her
dress in the dark, but another faint knock on the glass,
and a mournful voice crying, " Wont you let me in ?
I'm freezing 1 I'm freezing," sent her to the window in
nothing but her long night gown and cap, with its
double borders shading a very pale and startled face.
Mrs. Thrasher lifted the sash and looked out. A
dark figure sat crouching on the snow where it had just
fallen after losing its hold on the window sill.
" Katharine, Katharine Allen, is it you?"
The figure struggled to its feet, and clinging to the
window-frame with one hand, put the other through the
opening, where it touched Mrs. Thrasher on the bosom.
A lump of snow could not have chilled her more com-
pletely, but nothing cold had power to reach that kind
heart. She lifted her plump little hands and folded the
trembling fingers to her bosom tenderly as if some
stray bird had fluttered there. Then the sharp wind
swept over them both, and dropping the hand with a
caress, the woman said, kindly :
" Go round to the door, Katharine. Father is unbolt-
ing it now."
Katharine turned away. Mrs. Thrasher closed the
window, and hurrying on a garment or two, went into
296 TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD.
the next room, where the embers of a noble hickory wood
fire lay smouldering under a bed of ashes. While she
was raking out "the fire Mr. Thrasher came in, treading
softly in his stocking feet, and with the suspenders he
had forgotten to button* trailing to the floor behind
him. From the darkness beyond came Katharine Allen ;
her hood was pushed back, and sparkles of ipe shone in
her hair as the ruddy light from two brands thrown
hastily together flashed over her. She had been crying,
but the tears had frozen to pearls on her cheeks, and
filled her eyelashes with delicate frostiness.
She entered the room and sat down in Mrs. Thrasher's
chair, looking wistfully at the old woman, and begging
pardon with her eyes as she touched the blue and red
patchwork cushion, which, in those days, was sacred to
the mistress of a New England home.
"I am very cold," she said, with a wan smile; "it
chilled me through standing by the gate so long."
" Poor child," said Mrs. Thrasher, gathering the stray
brands together with a pair of heavy tongs. " Father,
just hand in a stick or two of wood from the entry way.
There, now, set up close to the andirons. Never mind
us, we're not a-cold."
Katharine drew close to the fire, and held out her
hands, that trembled and fluttered to the heat like half
perished birds.
"I ran away," she said, piteously; "crept out of the
garret window, and came off here. They want to kill
me, you know."
The old people looked at each other and turned away,
with their faces in shadow.
" You'll not be afraid to hide me a little while ?" she
questioned, anxiously.
TAKEN IN FROM THE COLD. 297
The old lady bent over her, with tears in her soft eyes.
"Afraid, dear? no; we're not afraid, are we, father?"
she said, lovingly.
A noise outside startled Katharine ; she sprang up
and fixed her wild eyes on the window.
" They've seen the light — they're after me."
" It's only an icicle dropping from the eaves," said
the old lady, smiling. " There isn't a soul near but
father and I, Katharine, dear, and you aint going to be
afraid of us ?"
Katharine looked at her lingeringly and sat down
again.
" No ; I'm not afraid of you. He told me to come,
and not fear any thing."
Mrs. Thrasher drew close to the girl and bent over her.
" He, dear ; tell us, father and I, you know, who it is
you mean by he ?"
Katharine looked up, and a strange light came to her
face ; it was as if a pearl had been suddenly illuminated
at the heart.
" It was Nelson who told me to come," she said, in a
tender voice.
" Nelson Thrasher — our son ?" interposed the old man,
almost sternly.
Katharine shrank together in her chair, and looked at
him with a frightened glance.
" Did I say Nelson?" she questioned, faintly. " Not
if it makes you angry with him."
The old man rose from his chair, and stood up in the
fire light.
" Katharine, he said, " tell us the truth — was it our
son who brought this shame and trouble on you ?"
The words were stern. The old man trembled in all
298 THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
his lirnbs, but still there was strength both in his look
and utterance.
" Shame, no ; it is not shame for him — you might be
sure of me there," she said, with pathetic simplicity. " I
never mentioned him, and never will. So don't speak
of shame and Nelson in one breath. The disgrace is
mine, you know ; and the sorrow, he shall never hear of
it — never."
The old lady looked imploringly at her husband, and
shrank back into the shadows of the room, wringing her
hands.
"And this is my son ! He brings ruin on an innocent,
thoughtless girl, and then abandons her for years — her
and his parents."
" Ruin ! No, not that 1" cried Katharine. " Shame !
No ! no I It is I that somehow have brought disgrace
on him ! Only I never told his name — never will ask
for it ! Don't be afraid. I didn't come for that — only
to beg a hiding-place for one day. Those men will never
know that I have any right to come here. Let them
search. If they tear the house down, nothing will be
found under the rafters. I've got the paper here !"
CHAPTER XLI.
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
SHE pressed one hand to her bosom, and smiled
proudly, as if they ought to be grateful for something
she had done.
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 299
"The paper — what paper ?" questioned Mrs. Thrasher.
" That which the minister gave us. It is more than
three months, and he told me not to wait longer than
that."
" Let me read the paper, girl 1"
"Yes," joined in Mrs. Thrasher, coming out of her
obscurity. " Let father read the paper."
"He told me to bring it here after three months,"
said Katharine, looking at them doubtfully ; " but he
did not know how it would happen. Dreadful things
have been done that he never thought of, so I must be
careful. I am only a poor girl, and they have almost
done the worst by me. Nothing can disgrace me more,
but it hasn't reached him yet. I wouldn't even tell the
doctor. Nobody ever saw the paper. That is my secret —
the only thing I have left. When they have killed me I
will eat the paper, and die with it in my bosom, be sure
of that."
" But you will tell us — remember he is our only child,
and it is hard not to know the truth — hard to think
badly of him," pleaded the mother.
" Badly of him — who has a right to do that ?" said
Katharine, excitedly. " You ought to know better. But
you are only his mother, not his — "
"His what, dear?"
Katharine shook her head, and bent her eyes on the
fire.
" If you have a paper that belongs to my son, let me
read it, girl. I have a right," pursued the old man.
" Eight — when you can think badly of him ? I never
could do that ; but he told me to come here and ask shel-
ter, not knowing how much I should need it. I want to
obey him — want to make you think well of him — but
how can I do it?"
300 THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
" Give us the paper if that will tell us the truth about
our son," answered the old man, firmly.
" But you might use it to disgrace his name."
" We are his parents, girl."
" But you suspect him, what of?"
" Of wronging you — we have suspected him of this 1"
" Yes, Katharine, father couldn't help it, you know.
It broke his heart, but he — that is, we couldn't clear
Nelson in our minds. If you can only help us, dear !"
Katharine bent toward the fire, clasping both hands
around her knees, and muttering to herself, " It would
be worse than death to think ill of him. They have a
right."
She drew back slowly, and turned to the old man.
"Promise me something, Mr. Thrasher."
" I will promise any thing that will be for your good."
" Promise never to let any human being know what is
in this paper, and I'll show it to you."
" We are his parents, and are not likely to tell any
thing that would disgrace our son."
" Promise her, father ; no matter what it is, promise !"
pleaded the mother, creeping round to her husband's
side.
The old man hesitated. Katharine bent slowly toward
the fire again.
" Promise," whispered the mother. " If our son is
wrong, we shall never have the heart to speak of it. If
he is innocent, no one but his owu parents have had the
cruelty to suspect him."
" I never thought wrong of him, never in my life,"
murmured Katharine, gazing into the fire ; " that would
kill me before those dark men had a chance."
" Well, girl, what promise shall I make ?" questioned
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 801
the old man, who had been listening to his wife with
serious attention.
" Only that you will never mention the paper, nor
what I tell you, till Nelson comes back."
"Well, I promise that."
"Yes ; we promise," repeated the mother.
Katharine took a scrap of paper from her bosom, un-
folded it with a loving touch, and gave it to the old
man. There was no candle in the room, but his specta-
cles lay on the closed Bible, where he had left them on
going to bed. He put them on, and knelt down by the
fire, from which his wife forced a shower of sparks with
the tongs. As the old man read the paper, she bent
over him, and when his head fell forward and buried
itself in his hands, her sobs mingled with the broken
thanks that sprang from the father's heart.
At last he arose to his feet, and looked at his wife,
who crept into his arms, and laying her withered cheek
on his bosom, whispered :
" Remember, husband, I told you so. Told you from
the first, either that it was not true, or that she was our
daughter."
As the sweet words fell from her lips, the good woman
looked on the girl with a countenance so heavenly, that
Katharine smiled under it, and for a moment forgot
what a wretched fugitive she was.
"Now," said the old man, seating himself, and stoop-
ing toward their midnight guest ; " now that our son is
cleared from this great guilt, tell us — for remember you
are our child — tell us about this terrible thing they
accuse you of."
Katharine turned cold and white, then she lifted her
sweet young face, and with her eyes turned clearly to
302 THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
his, told him all that she knew, word for word, feeling
for feeling ; and from the depths of her true heart he
saw how innocent she was.
The old woman listened with him, but her gentle
heart gave way long before Katharine had done her
story ; when it was finished she gathered the poor girl
in her arms and wept over her.
"What can we do? How help her?" she said, ad-
dressing the old man. " The law is like a hound — it
will take her anywhere ; and she is our child — our in-
nocent, innocent daughter."
Katharine clung to the woman, as she uttered these
words, and began to cry. It was sweet to be so trusted
and cared for in the midst of her desolation.
" Where can we put her? What can we do, father?"
There was no answer — the old man sat looking at her
very sadly and with deep thoughtfulness.
" Let us first ask what the good God intends in all
this. He does not lead the young into peril, or the in-
nocent into shame for nothing. It is a fearful risk, but
let us do right."
Katharine looked on him in affright, her eyes growing
wildly large, her lips falling apart, till the white teeth
shone through.
" You will not give me up ? They will kill me ! Oh,
father, they will kill me 1"
She had called him father for the first time in her
life, and the word came forth in a cry of anguish that
made even his strong heart shrink.
"No,"-he said, gently. "Not for all the gold of
Ophir would I do this thing."
Katharine drew a long breath. The old woman
folded her in a closer embrace, and softly whispered :
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 303
That she must have no fear — God always guarded
the innocent.
And so they rested a little while in silence. The old
man buried in thought. The women watching him with
anxious faces.
" I will take her to his chamber," said the mother, at
last, " the blinds are down and we can find the way
without light."
Mr. Thrasher said nothing, but regarded the fugitive
in grave sadness.
" Stay with her till morning," he said ; " she has left
her mother behind, poor woman."
Katharine arose and went up to the old man.
"You are his father and believe me," she said.
" Yes, Katharine, I believe you — I will give all that I
have to prove how innocent you are — I will mortgage
the farm to-morrow, if that will do."
" Only tell me where I can find him. He will not let
any one harm me ; you know that."
"If we knew — if we only knew ; but the sea is a
broad desert of waters, where no man finds his fellow
for seeking."
" Has Nelson gone to sea?" faltered the poor girl.
"Yes, Katharine, on a long voyage. He may not
come back for years."
She stood still, dumb with pain, and thrills of awe
ran through her voice wh'en it struggled back to her.
" Who told me of this before ?"
" No one, my child ; it came in a letter, and we never
mentioned a word of it to a living soul."
"A letter to you and none to me ; but who told me, I
say ? or when did I dream something like it ? I wish all
this was clear. Nelson writes to you, and yet I know
304 THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
beforehand what news the letter brings. It has kept
me awake nights, but in the daytime fell back into
dreams again."
She stood a moment with one hand to her forehead,
then dropped it, and said, quickly :
" Let me read his letter, may I ?"
The old man opened the great Bible, and took the
letter from between its leaves. She knelt down upon
the hearth and read it through.
" Yes," she said, "it is true. He has gone. I might
search the world over and never find him. They might
kill me, and my husband never hear of it. This is worse
than their threats, worse than death, for it shuts out all
hope. Where could I go ? The world is so wide, and I
have not learned the way anywhere."
" Oh, if you could but stay with us till he comes 1"
exclaimed the old lady.
" But they will not let me. To-morrow, perhaps,
those men will come here and force you to give me up."
" I never will, never on earth," cried the old woman,
flushing with the generous courage that filled her heart.
" They shall tear me all to pieces first."
The old man stood up. The solemn thoughtfulness
had left his face, and it was sadly calm, as if some pain-
ful doubt had left his mind. He went up to Katharine
and laid both hands on her head. She looked at him
with her sad eyes, and almost smiled, his face was so
pleasant that it reassured her.
" You have thought of some way by which we can
find him ?" she said, with a gush of gratitude mellowing
her voice.
" No, Katharine, that is impossible. Ships that have
sailed can never be overtaken ; but have you forgotten,
THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE. 305
child, that the guilty alone stand in need of flight — God
protects the innocent."
" Oh, he has abandoned me," sighed the poor fugitive.
" Some wicked thing has woven snares about me that
look so like guilt that even he turns away."
" He never turns away. By-and-by, child, his doings
will be made clear. Out of the depths of tribulation
great mercies are sometimes wrought."
" You do not think it wise that I escaped from those
men," she faltered.
He pressed one broad hand lovingly on her head.
The touch sent a holy shock through her frame. Some
of the broad courage that filled his Christian heart
entered hers, and it flashed upon her how cowardly her
flight had been — how much like a confession of guilt it
appeared.
"I have nowhere to go," she said, mournfully. "If
I get away every one will think it was from a sense of
guilt that I left. I am his wife, your son's wife, and
must not let myself be unjustly condemned. Is that
what you mean, father ?"
" Go to bed, child, and before you sleep ask these
questions of our Father who is in heaven. He will turn
your heart aright."
She bent her head and clung for a moment to the
hand which he had extended ; a great pain struggled at
her heart ; she knew what his words portended. Like the
angel who met Hagar in her extremity, he was "about to
warn her back to her bonds.
They parted for the night, and Katharine went up to
Thrasher's chamber, led through the darkness by the
gentle guidance of his mother. The moonlight lay full
in the room, and she could see all the objects it con-
19
306 THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE.
tained — his bed, the glass in which he had feared to
look, and the carpet which his boyish knees had
pressed.
The old lady helped her undress, and after she lay
down, arranged the bed-clothes and pillows as she had
a, thousand times for her son.
" Shall I stay with you, child ?" she said, at last,
stooping down and kissing her in that sweet, motherly
fashion which carries protection with it.
Katharine lay in her husband's bed overpowered by a
strange tranquillity. Her face looked out sweetly
through the moonlight, and both hands were folded over
her bosom ; she had dropped unconsciously into an at-
titude of prayer.
" Shall I stay with you, dear child ?"
" No, it is his room, I am not afraid ; go to your own
bed, mother; in the morning I shall be strong."
She had called his parents father and mother more
than once that evening ; there was a fascination in the
words that could not be conquered. It made the old
woman's heart swell to be so addressed. Her son's wife
— it was next to having him there in person. She
kissed Katharine on the forehead, and went away
through the darkness, knowing well that a violent death
hovered over that young head, but feeling glows of hap-
piness in her heart all the time ; for, like her husband,
she believed devoutly that God protects the innocent.
He does — He does, but not always in the way His
creatures are presumptuous enough to mark out for
Him.
THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON. 307
-.
CHAPTER XLII.
ON THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON.
" WELL now, jest tell me all about it," said Tom, hur-
rying little Paul away from his playmates to a corner
of the school-house where a few gleams of sunshine
gave some slight idea of warmth. " Tell me what them
chaps did when they found out what we'd been up to.
Oh, golly, but I'd a gin the last four-pence half-penny
I've got to have seen 'em. Didn't they rip and tear
beautifully ? Didn't they rare up and fall over back-
ward ? Oh, yes, I kinder see 'em now staring at one
another like 'stonished pigs, and wondering what cute
little shaver did it. But you don't tell me, Paul — seem
kind o' down in the mouth about something."
" No," said Paul, gently, "my mouth isn't down, but
I feel sad, very much for the poor mademoiselle."
" Oh, that aint nothing ; just let me get things put to
rights, and she'll be in New York and crowing over 'em
all. What do you shake your head for ?"
"She wont go, Tom."
" She wont go ?"
" No ; they will kill her, but she will not run away,
clear off, as we desire."
" How do you know that ?"
i " I think so, sure."
" Oh, bother, you've got the drag on. Now jist tell
me all about what happened up yonder. How did
them officer fellows act when they found out that she
was gone ?"
808 THE FIEST STAGE TO PRISON".
" Oh, they found out nothing at first. Madame, that
is Mrs. Allen, came down-stairs so softly and made one
good breakfast, very nice, and they sat down, eating
plenty. Madame look very white, and her hand shook
when she pour coffee into their cups, but the men very
sleepy and never see that, but sit so, with eyes almost
shut and opening the mouth wide two, three times,
sleepy a good deal."
" Wai, I reckon it warn't for want of snoring over
night. My, didn't they go it in them two chairs," cried
Tom, gleefully.
" By-and-by madame began to wash cups, and do
work. Then one man he say: 'Come, supposing we go
np-stairs and see how that pretty bird comes on. The
old woman don't mean to give her any breakfast this
morning, by her washing the dishes so soon.'
" Then madame, she stop short, so, and look much
frightened, very cold, and she say nothing, only look,
look."
" Wai, now, I'd a thought better of that 'ere woman,
she's disappinted me," said Tom, settling both hands
in his pockets, and planting his feet apart on the ground.
It's scandless. Wai, now, what did the fellers do arter
that?"
" They go up-stairs and knock ; one, two, three times,
very loud, then great noise with feet, and the door open,
no one there, bed empty, garret window open."
" But no ladder, darn 'em — don't say as I swore now,
Paul, cause it's a lie. I didn't — Jube and I took care
of that 'ere ladder between us. Golly, how I'd liked to
have seen 'em looking out of that 'ere window like two
foxes in a box trap. Wai, what did they do then ?"
Paul smiled and looked around to see that no one was
within hearing.
THE FIKST STAGE TO PRISON. 309
"Well, now I tell you, Mr. Tom, they come along
tramp, tramp, on the floor — great noise and much talk,
down the stairs — madame, she stand white, like snow,
but with her eyes very sparkle. Jube, very brave, stand
close by the stairs. Madame say something quick, then
Jube he put his arm through the iron, so, and hold
tight the door, madame go out, like lightning, and bring
long piece of wood from out door. Then Jube take his
arm away and make bar. Bang, bang, but the door
no open, very strong."
Tom, with a spasmodic spreading of his feet and
elbows, almost set himself down into the snow. " He,
he, hi, hi, ho, ho-o-o-o I" he shouted, rolling about in
furious glee ; " I take it all back ; that 'ere woman is a
sneezer — I give up — own beat. She knows a thing or
two, she does ! Bang, did you say ? I reckon it was
bang! but, oh, she had 'em tight!"
" Very tight. They kick and call loud, and make
great noise, but madame wash her dish and say nothing.
Jube he stand by the fire and laugh ; I laugh, too, very
little."
" Laugh ! wal, now I reckon you did. If you hadn't
I'd a licked yer right where ye stand, if you be a fur-
rener. I wonder you didn't march right up and hug
the old woman — I'd a-done it."
" Madame don't like that ; she keep on her work, no
smile, nothing but work. The men make more noise ;
she no take care, but work, work."
" She's a Queen of Shebe, she is. I tell you what,
Paul, I'm proud of that woman. She ought to have
been my marm. Wal, so she worked on, and let 'em
take it out in stomping, didn't she ?"
" Yes ; she work all the time ; not seem to hear till
310 THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON.
somebody open the gate, then she stop, with the broom
in her hand like a staff, and held her breath, so."
"What was that for?"
" We all hold our breath, for under the heavy step
come a soft one like little child walking. The door it
open, and that man from next house come in, and with
him mademoiselle."
" You don't say so. Paul, you furrenir, I dare you to
say that over agin. If you want a licking, do it, that's
all !"
" Yes ; it was the poor, pretty lady," said Paul,
nothing daunted by this grand threat. " She come in
very softly, with the petite bonnet over her face. She
looked like one angel. Madame stood still. She bear on
her broom like a staff, and her eyes open wide. Made-
moiselle, she go up to madame and take her hand.
' Mother,' she say, ' guilty people run away, and I am
not guilty. God knows it, and He is good ; so I come
back !' Ah, Monsieur Tom, it broke my heart in pieces
to hear her speak so sad, so sweet. I can't help it, the
tears will come !"
"Now don't," said Tom, drawing the sleeve of his
jacket across his eyes. " It's enough to make a feller
forget that he's a man !"
Paul went on, twinkling the tears away with his black
eyelashes.
" So then she come home once more like a poor little
bird that flies round and round its nest. Madame said
no one word, but took mademoiselle's head, so, between
her hands, and kissed her very much, once, twice. I
never saw madame do that till now ; it made me sad
very much."
" Wkat did she come back for ?" cried Tom. " I can't
understand it, no how."
THE FIRST STAGE TO PEISON. 311
" She took off her petite bonnet, and sat down by the
fire, holding out her hands. Then the good man from
the house with trees before it, very tall, he speak to
madame so kind, and say that mademoiselle is very right
not to run great way off like guilty people ; that the
great God was very strong to take care of her, and she
must not have too much fear, but keep brave heart.
Then madame began to cry ; oh, how she cry, with great
sobs, like the wind in trees that give all their leaves
away to winter, she say ' God help me, for I am a
coward ;' and then she goes to the stairs and opens the
door, and says to the men, ' Come down, my daughter
has not run away, she is here.' "
" Then mademoiselle stood up and say — ah, so sweet :
' Yes, I am here, do with me as you please ;' and a smile
was on her mouth like the sun on the snow, and "
" Don't, I tell you don't," cried Tom, stamping furi-
ously. " It's enough to bust a feller's heart, if his jacket
was buttoned ever so tight. She's a brave gal. You,
and I, and Jube, may just hang up our fiddles, for the
law's got her now, tight enough. That old Thrasher
has done the business for her this time, anyhow. Gracious,
what's that ? Look a there — didn't I tell you ?"
A wagon was coming up the road, slowly ploughing
its way through the muddy snow : a single-seated wagon,
with a rush-bottomed chair standing in front, upon
which a man sat conspicuously, driving the horse. In
the seat behind sat another man, with his arm thrown
around a slender female, who shrunk away from his em-
brace, and cast wild glances toward the group of school
children, that gathered in a crowd by the side of the
road.
"Ah, me, it is her," said Paul, turning his eyes upon
the wagon, and clasping his hands.
312 THE FIRST STAGE TO PRISON.
"Yes," said Tom, and the great tears leaped down
his cheeks. " It's no mistake, them men are the keep-
ers, and that is her. They're taking her up to the
Squire's. It's all day with us, Paul ; she'll never sleep
in that brown house agin. Don't shake so, Paul; don't
cry like a baby ; I tell you it's enough to make a feller
ashamed of your company !"
That moment the wagon came opposite the place
where the two bo3's were standing : the prisoner saw
them, and leaning forward tried to smile. Tom's bosom
heaved, every feature in his face quivered, and then his
feelings broke forth in a burst of tears that shook him
from head to foot.
" Cry, Paul ; cry, if you want to ! I wont say a word
agin it," he sobbed ; " if you and I was giants, fifty feet
tall, we needn't be ashamed of boo-hooing right out at
a sight like that. Poor gal, poor gal, she looks like a
blessed lamb between two butchers. Never mind, Paul,
cry if you can't help it. I'll stand between you and the
boys — they know me — by jingo, wasn't that one of 'cm
laughing? I'll maul him, see if I don't."
"Ah, no," said Paul, whose grief had been far less
turbulent than that of his friend, " they not under-
stand it as we do. She would not like you to fight, or
think of any thing wrong. Let us be good, very much,
and perhaps God will take care of her as He took care
of Jube and me, when there was nothing but sky and
water, very deep, all around us."
" Oh, why didn't she cut when we got her off!" cried
Tom, bursting into a fresh passion of sobs. " It's like
climbing a high tree after a young bird, and then seeing
it flip out of your hand just as you touch ground.
What's the use of being a gineral if your sojers wont
work! That old Thrasher has undid us, Paul."
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 313
" Don't, please !" said Paul, listening. " I can hear
the wagon yet, and it seems to be saying good-by — •
good-by. Oh, it is very sad, too sad, Mr. Tom."
True enough, the wagon was out of hearing, and
Katharine Allen proceeded on her first stage to prison.
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
THERE was a mournful council held in Mrs. Allen's
house on the morning after Katharine was carried away
to prison. Old Mr. Thrasher and his wife had gone to
the widow's residence early in the day, in great humility,
seeking to share her sorrows, and take the burthen of
Katharine's defence upon themselves. In words, they
kept the promise that the poor girl had extofted, and
never mentioned their son in connection with her, but
the truth broke out from their innocent bosoms in evei-y
way. It breathed in their voices, and looked kindly
forth from their eyes. They called Mrs. Allen sister,
and there was a tenderness in the words that no
common ideas of brotherhood ever possessed. They
spoke of Katharine as the dear child on whom God had
laid a heavy hand, but who had proved as brave as she
was innocent.
All this comforted Mrs. Allen. She had great faith
in the justice of God, and would not believe but that
the truth must pi'evail even against the iron rule of law.
She did not hesitate to accept the aid which Mr. Thrasher
314 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
offered, and in one hour those three persons who had
been so far apart two days before formed one little com-
munity of grief, and consoled each other like members
of one household.
At first the two women had their secret misgivings,
and, dear old cowards as they were, regretted that
Katharine had even rendered herself up to the laws.
Flight seemed to them the only sure way of escaping
the horrors that threatened her. But the old man
silenced these secret repinings with his firm Christian
faith. His faith in divine goodness was perfect ; be-
lieving Katharine innocent, he trusted her to the laws,
certain that in some way her safety would be wrought
out. Still he was not one of those men who indolently
resign every thing into divine hands without individual
effort. While ready to trust, he was equally ready
to work for her deliverance in any way that seemed
best.
The doctor came while these three persons were con-
sulting together. A long ride was before him that day,
but he scouted all ideas of fatigue, and left a host of
patients to wait while he rode off to the widow Allen's
in pity to her forlorn condition. Under the eccentrici-
ties which marked this man's character was a fund of
sterling good sense and shrewd worldly knowledge,
both of which he brought into the general council,
where it was greatly needed, for three more inexperi-
enced and single hearted creatures than he found in that
kitchen seldom existed, even in New England, before
stage-coaches gave way to railroads. Every face in the
little group brightened when the doctor came in with
his iisual quaint joviality, which often covered more true
benevolence than people suspected.
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 315
" That's right ! all in Indian council round the fire.
Something to be done ; you're reacVy; to go at it, and
I'm here to help. I say, Thrasher, if you can't save
that girl, don't ever dare to pray in the face of heaven
again."
" It must be a greater than I who saves her," an-
swered the old man, reverently; "but all that an honest
man has power to do I am ready for."
" Well, now give me a chair, Mrs. Allen ; don't keep
me standing, it's bad policy ; I may be a widower some
of these days, can't you understand that !"
Mrs. Allen got up and placed a chair for her old
friend, who dropped into it, deposited his crutches con-
veniently, and began to rub his hands before the fire.
"Well, now, to begin at the root of the matter,
Thrasher. This thing wants money."
" I have some in the house and more out at interest.
Tell me how to use it best."
" You're a prime old chap. A church full of such
members would be enough to save the whole country,
bad as it is. How much money in all, brother ?"
I am afraid the word brother broke into a slight
sarcasm on the doctor's lips, for he rather disliked
these empty titles of endearment, and was apt to laugh
at them a little in ordinary times. This one word had
sprung from his heart in spontaneous warmth, but it
was so strange to the lips that they threw it off irrev-
erently.
Mr. Thrasher named a sum of money larger than any
one could have believed at his command.
" It isn't mine," he said, noticing the look of surprise.
" My son brought home all his profits and savings the
last voyage, and told me to put them out at interest,
316 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
and ahvays consider them as mine if I wanted means.
I shall use this money now — every cent, if needful for
her safety or support."
" You think the girl innocent, then?" said the doctor.
" Innocent as I am," answered the good old man.
"As a baby," chimed in the mild voice of Mrs
Thrasher.
" As the children of heaven," said Mrs. Allen, stand-
ing up, and speaking with all the authority of con-
viction.
"And this is why you would not let the poor thing
run away ?" inquired the doctor, sharply.
The two women looked at each other guiltily. They
had been willing enough that she should run away. It
was the sublime faith of the old man, appealing to a
consciousness of innocence in the girl herself, that had
wrought the noble act of self-abnegation, carried out
in Katharine's return.
As for the kind-hearted women, to them Katharine's
safety was the first thought ; it was with heavy hearts
that they had seen her return like a bird to the snare.
" Innocent or guilty she was in the hands of her
God," answered the old man. "It was not for weak
man like me to wrest her therefrom."
" Perhaps not ; but I shall do my best to put all that
stuff out of the lawyers' heads," answered the doctor,
dryly-
The two women sighed heavily. Mrs. Thrasher looked
a little shocked, and was troubled with vague misgivings
that no lawyer of less strict principle would be tolerated
by her husband.
" We must try and get a conscientious lawyer, if
possible," said the old man, coloring under the doctor's
words.
FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 317
The doctor took up his crutches, and crossed them
angrily before him.
" Look here, my old friend, we must divide this work,
I see. You shall take the church and I'll take the law.
You pray night and morning, I'll work morning and
night ; and if we don't save that poor child in the end,
why it wont be for want of a suitable division of labor."
Mr. Thrasher yielded to this, for he had the great
good sense which gives to every man a clear insight into
his own capacities.
" I never had any thing to do with the law in my life,"
he said, meekly ; " and for the whole world I wouldn't
injure her by meddling with what I don't understand.
If you'll undertake it, doctor, I'll "
"Be content to play second fiddle — that's exactly
what I am up to. Leave these law matters to me, and
if you can do any thing to comfort her — if your religion
can teach the poor thing to be cheerful or patient, my
part wont be the most important after all. Well, now,
Mrs. Allen, what are you good for ? Why didn't you
go with the girl ?"
" I wished it ; but they wouldn't let me. The jail
was only for those who commit crimes, the constable
said, and I had no right there."
" But you shall have a right, if I have to sin for you,"
said the doctor, dashing his crutch on the floor. " This
is what you must arrange. Shut up the house here ;
take some of Thrasher's money, and go down to New
Haven, take board close by the jail, and I'll answer for
it you shall spend half 3Tour time with Katharine. If
Thrasher and his wife could go with you, all the better
— plenty of time to convert her in the prison. If the
worst comes to the worst, she'll need you, and you can
do more good than fifty ministers."
318 FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.
" Is it really your advice that I go ?" said Mrs. Allen,
with painful eagerness
" It's my opinion that you should all go ; nothing to
do in the country at this time of year. You can com-
fort one another, and do her a world of good."
'I'm sure he's right," said Mrs. Thrasher, casting an
appealing glance at her husband. " We might be a great
comfort to her. How can we spend Nelson's money
better?"
The old man arose and went out with the doctor, and
the two consulted together some minutes by the gate,
then Mr. Thrasher returned.
" There is a thing we have not considered," he said ;
"these two strangers. What can be done with them?"
Mrs. Allen went to a cupboard and took from one of
the shelves a New York Journal, dated months back, in
which Mrs. Prior's advertisement for scholars and
boarders was conspicuous.
" These people live in my native town," she said ; " it's
a long • time since I left it ; but Paul would be much
better off with this good minister than here with a
broken-hearted old woman. My son has forwarded
money for his support. While this trouble hangs over
us, I will send the child to a happier home ; as for Jube,
he can stay on the place."
Jube heard this, and clasped his great hands with the
sudden shock of her words. What ! part from his little
master — let the boy go off alone among strangers ! It
was more than he could bear. But obedience had been
the first lesson of his life, and though every nerve of his
heart protested, he uttered no complaint. Still, as he
went heavily about his work that day, tears were con-
stantly dropping from his eyes, and once he approached
THE SEPARATION. 819
the window with such creeping humility that she half
relented, and was tempted to let him go with his young
charge.
But with a true Connecticut woman, industry is one
of the leading virtues. The idea of a stalwart man
passing his life in petting a little boy, was out of the
question. True, it was very painful for her to separate
these two singularly matched friends, but it was not in
her nature to encourage idleness, so Paul's destiny for
a time was decided.
CHAPTER XLIV.
THE SEPARATION.
IT was a sad night for Paul — the saddest, perhaps, of
his whole life — for hitherto one friend had been with
him ; now he was to go forth alone. This was weary
trouble ; but the boy met it bravely. Being told with
firmness that it was wrong to desire Jube to be always
with him. he hushed down the anguish of that parting,
and went away with bitter tears choked back in his
heart.
This story was in the days of carriers and stage-
coaches. Paul was placed in charge of a driver, and
early the next morning was to be sent on his journey.
He and Jube spent half an hour in the garret before he
left, and a touching scene passed between those faithful
hearts in that lonely place. Jube sat down on the floor
and held the lad in his arms.
320 THE SEPARATION.
" You wont forget me, never, little masser ?"
" Forget you, Jube, I couldn't do it ; never, never ;
when 'sleep, it will be Jube who stands by in the dreams
that our lady will send. If I pray, I will ask her to
bless Jube."
" Oh, little masser, how Jube's heart aches !"
" And mine, Jube. What shall I do, all alone ?"
"Yes, little masser, who will wake you up in the
morning and warm your hands in his ?"
"No one," sobbed Paul — "no one ever will be good
to me like you, Jube."
"And you'll want Jube ?"
"Want you — oh, very much."
Jube gathered the little fellow to his bosom and cried
over him in forlorn silence.
" Little masser ?"
" Well, Jube ?" was the mournful answer.
"I'll try, little masser — I'll do very much to stay in
this house when you're gone ; but don't be frightened
if I come often. Masser," sobbed the negro, "it does
me good to say 'little masser,' but to-morrow no one
will hear me."
Paul clung to his friend. " But I shall know it. In
my soul I shall hear Jube's voice saying, 'little mas-
ser.' "
The rattle of wheels disturbed them. Tom Hutchins
had driven up in his father's yellow wagon, and sat
cracking his whip, ready to convey Paul to the stage
house, where the doctor was waiting to see his youthful
friend off. There was brief leave-taking between Mrs.
Allen and her son's protege*. The sorrows that pos-
sessed her were so absorbing that all lesser griefs passed
as nothing. She kissed the boy with a mournful fare-
THE SEPARATION. 321
well, and saw hirn driven away heavy-hearted and heavy
eyed, wondering that any one, even a child, could feel
sorrow for so slight a cause.
Jube, poor, faithful Jube, lifted Paul into the wagon,
folded the checked blanket which draped the seat ten-
derly around him, and turned away, covering his face
with both hands.
When Paul looked back to wave his last adieu, Jube
was following down the road with long strides. He
soon reached the wagon, and kept up with it, nowith-
standing Tom's splendid driving, till they reached the
stage house on the hill at Chewstown.
The stage was not in, and Tom sat in magnificent
state by his foreign friend, snapping his whip and hold-
ing in his horse, which was made restive by the noise,
with great force. What between grief at his friend's
departure and the glory of driving a young horse for
the first time, that precocious Jehu was in a state of
wonderful excitement. But when the stage-coach came
in, with its tin horn sounding over the hills, and a
crack of whips that startled the whole neighborhood,
Tom folded up his lash in despair, and shrinking into
the insignificance of a one-horse wagon, gave way to
his counter passion and became inconsolable over Paul's
departure.
" I don't wonder you look so, Jube," he said, address-
ing the negro. " The idea of sending him off without
you — it's downright scandlous. Now if it was me I'd
cut. Catch a chap about this size staying behind to
please an old woman ! I wouldn't do it !"
" Ha, what is that ? What you say, Masser Tom ?
Cut — what is cut ?"
20
322 THE SEPARATION.
Before Tom could explain his meaning to the negro,
the doctor rode up and shook Paul by the hand.
" Come, hop out, my little shaver — seat all ready — •
driver's got his orders. Here's a letter that you must
give Mr. Prior, that's a good boy. Open the door, dri*
ver — lift him up, cuffy — ho, heave, ho !"
The stage took a splendid sweep, that nearly broke
Tom's heart with envy, then swung down the sand
banks across the bridge and away.
Paul leaned from a window, and wildly flung kisses
back to his friends. Jube shaded his eyes with one
hand, but tears dropped heavy and thick from under it,
while Tom jumped out of his wagon, and ran after the
doctor.
" Doctor, I say, you jest listen to reason. That ere
nigger is breaking his consarned black heart 'cause you
amongst you wont let him go with Paul. It's a burn-
ing shame of you, doctor ; he'll jest pine away into a
consumption ; and that'll be what you have done."
" Why, Tom, what is all this about ? I haven't kept
your snowball ; he can roll where he pleases for any
thing I care about it."
"And you didn't set the widder up to this, doctor ?"
" Set her up to it ?— no."
" Doctor, give us your hand. I ought to have known
better. If ever there was a chap that I look up to he
isn't far off from this 'dentical hoss. If you'd gin orders
for cuff to stay, stay he should, right or wrong ; but if
it's only a specimen of woman's work, then Jube is his
own boss. A woman's a woman, and a nigger is a nig-
ger— neither uv 'em can vote or train according to law.
Then what right has one over 'tother, I should like to
know ?"
THE SEPARATION. 823
The doctor's eyes twinkled under their heavy brows.
" That is logic," he said, leading the boy on. " If
women could vote, and "
" If wimmin could vote 1" exclaimed Tom, with mag-
nificent disdain. " The idee ! Who'd take care of the
young ones while they trapsed about 'lection days?
Well, I reckon it wouldn't be me — I've had enough of
that 'ere."
" Well, Tom, as women can't vote, and have no right
to order negroes, what course would you advise Jube to
take ?"
" Cut, doctor ; that's what I'd do in this case !"
" Well, if he wants to cut, and has the money to afford
it, I don't see the harm."
"You don't? Hurrah, Jube! You don't ?— that's
enough. Good-by, doctor."
Away the lad rushed, and sprang with a bound into
the wagon.
" Come, Jube — hurry up. I've got something splen-
did to say to you. Jump in, and I don't mind driving
you over the hill. Chirk up, old fellow, we'll be after
him yet, but I'll think it over till morning."
Jube obeyed this boisterous summons, and climbed
into the wagon.
The next day, Mrs. Allen left her house, and took up
her lonely abode in New Haven. Old Mr. Thrasher
went with her, leaving his wife behind for a few days,
when she too would give up her home. Jube was left
alone in the house, alone in the cruel cold, so heart-
broken and desolate that he had not sufficient energy
to build a fire, or cook necessary food. Tom was right
— a few weeks of this life would have killed the noble
fellow outright. On the third day after Paul left, he
324 THE SEPARATION.
was sitting drearily on the hearth, with his feet in the
ashes, when Tom came in.
"Just as I expected," he said, dropping into Mrs.
Allen's high-backed chair. " Down in the mouth — clean
give up — not worth salt."
Jube did not speak, but sat supporting his head with
both hands, looking gloomily into the ashes.
" Look a here, cuff, to-morrow is stage day agin."
"I know it," said Jube. "The doctor stopped here
and told me."
" He did ?"
"Yes."
" Well, why didn't you take the hint ?"
Jube looked at Tom, with a languid question in his
eyes.
" Pick up your money, jump on the top of the stage,
and dash away after Paul. That's what he meant by
coming here."
" Ha ! ha I what that ?" cried Jube, starting to his feet.
" Now, don't go off the handle ; but pack up your bun-
dle, and be off in the morning. What are you skeered
about ? What's the use of working when you've got
lots an' lots of cash ? Just up and go after Paul. He's
breaking his heart, and so are you ; besides, this old
house is enough to set a feller crazy. I couldn't stand
it. Just up and go ; that's my advice. The doctor'll
make it all right with the old woman."
" But the animals — the poor cow and the birds — who
feed them when Jube gone?"
"That's exactly what I come about. If it hadn't
been for that difficulty, I'd a had you off afore this.
I've been talking to par about the chores to hum, and
he's kinder promised to let me off from part of 'em and
THE SEPARATION. 325
me time to stop here on my way to school and back.
['11 take care of the critters and feed the chickens till
some of 'em get home again ; so don't worry yourself
ibout them, but chirk up and act like a man. What are
,rou looking away for ? Don't it suit you ?"
Jube turned his face upon the boy ; a face all quiver-
ug and aglow with happiness.
" Oh, Masser Tom, a great rock is lifted right off from
ny heart. Masser Paul ! Masser Paul !"
" It wont take you ir.ore than a day to get there."
"One day? to-morrow night ? no more?" questioned
he negro, earnestly.
" Jes so. Now pack up and I'll drive you over to the
tage house, consarn me, if I wont ; for, cuffy or no
uffy, you are a prime feller, Jube, and I aint ashamed
f your acquaintance. It's an honor, Jube, and I
eel it."
The next morning Tom sat in his father's yellow
ragon in front of the stage house, while Jube, smiling
ill all his teeth shone, again waved an adieu from the
Dp of the stage .
" Good-by, Jube ; tell Paul not to forget old Bungy
nd the folks that's in it."
Jube smiled broadly.
" Tell him to come back in the spring."
Jube lost his message, for the stage went off, scatter-
ig a storm of mud from its wheels, and thundering
own the sand banks with a flourish of whips that
ggravated Tom's unhappiness beyond measure.
" Never mind," he muttered, turning his horse to fol-
>w on the same road. " If Rose Mason only knew I
as driving this young critter that she used to consider
) harnsome, she wouldn't think that stage any thing
•emendous, loud as the driver cracks his whip."
326 PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME.
With these consoling fragments of thought, Tom fol-
lowed in the wake of the stage, trying his whip as he
crossed the bridge in a manner that made his young
steed plunge and jump on one side with a violence that
brought the boy's heart into his mouth. While he was
busy subduing the spirited animal the doctor rode on to
the bridge and watched the conflict. It was soon over,
for Tom had ignominiously given up by thrusting his
whip under the seat in great dismay.
" Well, what's the news, Tom ?" inquired the doctor,
as he rode by.
" Nothing special sir, only Jube has cut. Going up
the hill yonder on top of the stage. I say, you'll just
make it all right with Mrs. Allen, doctor ?"
The doctor nodded, chuckled softly, and rode on
CHAPTER XLY.
I
PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME.
ONCE more the stage swung to at minister Prior's
gate, and this time a slender boy, with a beauty of
countenance that made you hold your breath, was lifted
through the door, and set carefully down upon the
grass.
Mr. Prior, who had been dreaming over his sermon
in the study, came out, looking bland as a summer's
morning, and was accosted by the driver :
" I say, minister, I always bring luck. Here is one
of the nicest little shavers that ever you saw. He wants
PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME. 327
to come to school, and I've told him that you'll be a
father to him, and as for Mrs. Prior — well, there's no
doing that lady justice."
Mr. Prior smiled pleasantly, and went up to Paul.
" He is indeed a fine boy."
" Thank you, monsieur," said Paul, taking a letter,
which the doctor had given him, from his pocket.
" When you read this perhaps you tell more sure if I
can stay here."
Mr. Prior glanced over the letter, and smiled down
with hospitable kindness into Paul's anxious eyes.
" It would be difficult to answer no, even if we wished
it," he said, kindly; "an orphan and a stranger — it is
from such I fancy that the angels come to us unawares."
"You will not find me too much troiible," said Paul,
smiling. " I study English good deal — try always."
" French is your native language, I think ?"
" Yes, monsieur !"
" Then we will soon find a lady who can talk with you ;
come, my little man."
The minister led Paul into the house, speaking to him
kindly enough, although, in his shyness, he was always
sadly at a loss what to say to any child, and the boy
looked so sorrowful at parting with his friend that the
clergyman was in doubt what manner of argument to
employ by way of consolation.
He gave the little fellow a seat in the parlor, and
went away to find Mrs. Prior, and inform her of the ar-
rival of her new pupil. She hurried in at once, and her
motherly kindness soon made Paul, in a measure, forget
his loneliness and desolation.
Mrs. Mason and Rose had gone out to walk ; so, for
an hour or two, the little woman gave the boy her uiidi-
*
328 PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME.
rided attention. He refused dinner, saj'ing they had
dined on the road ; but Mrs. Prior, ont of the experi-
ence of her schoolmistress days, had great faith in the
unlimited powers of children in the wa}* of voraciousness,
so she brought him all manner of quaint shaped cakes
and crullers, red apples and nuts, until Paul was con-
fused by the abundance, and sat with them on the hand-
kerchief laid across his lap, staring ruefully at the pile,
and really not knowing where to begin.
But what comforted Paul more than any thing was to
hear himself addressed in his native language, which
Mrs. Prior spoke with a sufficient degree of fluency.
"I have a little girl here," she said, "who will be a
nice plajrnate for you. "
" Is she a pretty little girl ?" Paul asked ; for he pos-
sessed a keen appreciation of beauty. %
" Very pretty ; her name is Rose, and she is nice and
sweet, like her name."
Paul was interested at once, and poured forth a
flood of questions with such volubility that it required
all Mrs. Prior's knowledge of French to follow him.
When he learned that it was the very Rose that Tom
Hutchins had talked of so much, he felt at once that he
had fallen among old friends, and his face brightened
till its singular beauty became a marvel in the eyes of
the minister's little wife.
Before Mrs. Mason and her daughter returned, Paul
and his hostess had become the best friends imaginable.
He grew very confidential, made her cry heartily with a
few words which conveyed an account of his mother's
death, and she brightened at the story of his rescue at
sea, and in her gentle heart blessed the rough sailor of
whom Paul spoke so lovingly. In the glow of these
PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME. 329
benevolent feelings she determined to do every thing
in her power to make the child's residence in her family
a happy episode in his life.
When she heard Mrs. Mason and little Rose in the
hall, Mrs. Prior went out and asked them to come in.
" I want your daughter and my new charge to be
good friends," she said, pleasantly, to Mrs. Mason.
" I will see him before I give any answer, if you
please," replied that lady, who grew more haughty and
insolent every day. ^
" His society could not fail to be of benefit to any
child," returned Mrs. Prior, annoyed, as often happened
now, by the imperious manner of her boarder. " He is
the most perfect little gentleman 1 ever saw in my life."
Mrs. Mason made an effort to look somewhat doubt-
ful of Mrs. Prior's judgment in such matters, but there
was a certain dignity in the lady's manner which checked
further insolence.
Indeed, Mrs. Mason herself was wonderfully struck
with the boy's delicacy of features and refinement of
manner, the moment she saw him. Her curiosity was
excited, and she asked innumerable questions, which
Paul answered evasively, for his childish instincts pre-
judiced him against the beautiful woman at once.
But the little girl and he soon opened friendly rela-
tions, after the first shyness, natural to children, had
•worn off. In the corner, where Paul was taken to ad-
mire her dolls, all fast asleep, as good dolls should be
when visitors come on them unawares, she began to
question him at once. What child would not ? He
told her of his perilous sea life, and of the beautiful
country where he once lived, but there were scenes in
that life so dark and terrible that the boy's heart shrunk
*
330 PAUL FINDS A NEW HOME.
away from them even in thought. To have mentioned
them in childish play would have proved beyond his
power. Among these were the blows that had been
dealt on Jube, and all his miserable life in that brig.
Another subject which he never mentioned was the
story of poor Katharine. Mrs. Allen, shrinking from
the idea that her daughter's disgrace should be carried
to her native town, had cautioned Paul never to men-
tion their names, and he obeyed her faithfully.
The doctor had obtained a letter from a clergyman in
New Haven to Mr. Prior, which the boy had brought as
an introduction, and that was all the information neces-
sary.
Thus, though Paul and Rose became good friends, he
never spoke of the people or scenes which they knew in
common. %
When bedtime came, Paul went up to the pretty little
room prepared for him with considerable hesitation, as
he had always had Jube near for comfort and protection.
However, he was too manly for a single remonstrance,
and when Mrs. Prior kissed him good-night at the door,
he knelt for his prayers, and hastened to bed with all
speed.
When he was safely in bed, and the warmth began to
make him feel somewhat less disconsolate, Mrs. Prior
came to take away the candle, through fear of imaginary
accidents.
"Are you comfortable ?" she asked, stopping to look
at him, as he lay with his classical head visible above
the clothes.
" Very," Paxil said.
" Sleep well, and try to be happy," she returned,
giving him another kiss, out of the tenderness of her
heart.
JUBE'S JOURNEY. 831
" Thank you, madame," Paul said, touched, as he al-
ways was, by any evidence of kindness. " I like you
very much, very much."
Mrs. Prior was not half way down-stairs before Paul
was quietly asleep. Fatigue kept him from dwelling
upon this new change. Indeed, he had grown so accus-
tomed to removals and strangers that he received them
with very diiferent feelings from those which would for-
merly have troubled him.
CHAPTER XLVL
JUBE FINDS HIS WAY TO BAYS HOLLOW.
THE next morning, while Paul and Rose were playing
in the dining-room — the little girl having been granted a
holiday on account of the boy's arrival — there arose in
the kitchen a sudden commotion, which attracted Mrs.
Prior's attention. She went out, and found her little
handmaiden in conversation with an immense negro,
who looked so good-natured and anxious, that it was a
wonder he could have frightened anybody, although the
girl appeared somewhat inclined to run away.
When Mrs. Prior entered, the man turned toward her
with a ponderous bow.
"What do you want, my good man?" she asked,
gently.
" My young rnasser is here," Jube said, with another
salute.
332 JUBK'S JOURNEY.
" Your young master?"
"Yes; Masser Paul."
"Are you his servant?"
" Yes, if madame pleases. Jube came with him from
the old home, saw the mistress buried, and has been
wandering about with little masser ever since."
" He told me about you," said Mrs. Prior.
" Yes, madame. So when madame sent masser away,
Jube meant to stay there and take care of the house.
But Jube would have died — came after little masser.
Please take me, madame. Jube can work ; he'll do any
thing, big, big, strong."
He extended his stalwart arms as a proof of his words,
and Mrs. Prior was touched by his earnestness.
" We have no need of any more help," she said.
" Oh, yes ; Jube be great help — -jis take me, madame,
you see — no be sorry, no indeed."
" I would willingly, for the child's sake, but we are
not rich; my husband could not afford to pay you
wages."
" Jube not want wages — no good of money. Please
let Jube stay, lady."
" Mrs. Prior went up to the study to hold a private
consultation with her husband ; while she was gone, Paul
and Rose passed through the kitchen.
At the sight of the negro, the boy gave a cry of de-
light, and rushed into his arms, with a burst of tears
and wild ejaculations. Jube sobbed aloud, and it was
some time before either of them could in the least re-
cover their composure.
Rose stood looking at them in great astonishment ;
but when Paul managed to explain that this was the
Jube of whom he had told her, she cried and laughed
.TUBE'S JOURNEY. 333
also, from pure sympathy, while the handmaiden worked
herself into such a state of bewilderment that she laid
the forks where the spoons belonged, put an empty tin
pan into the oven, instead of the pudding, which was
ready for baking, and performed a variety of other won-
derful feats, which brought great disgrace upon her
shortly after.
When Mrs. Prior and the clergyman came down-stairs,
they found Paul nestled close to his old friend, and
looking so happy that the very idea of refusing the ne-
gro's request sent a pang to their hearts.
" Jube must stay," Paul cried, in his exquisitely per-
suasive way ; " please to say yes, good madame — shan't
he stay, sir?"
The clergyman looked at his wife, and she looked
back at him ; both were extremely perplexed.
"Jube no want wages," said the negro, "only wants
to live near little masser."
" Yes, that is all," added Paul.
" "We certainly cannot have the man," Mrs. Prior said
to her husband.
" That is out of the question," he replied.
" But what can we do ?"
"Settle it yourself, Mrs. Prior; your decision is sure
to be a correct and wise one."
"With these complimentary words, the minister helped
himself out of his difficulty by leaving the room.
Mrs. Prior looked at the friends in great trouble ; but
little Paul approached her chair and put his arms about
her neck ; Rose clung to her hand and added her entrea-
ties ; while Jube gazed at her with his great, honest eyes.
The result of all this affair was, that Jube insisted on
making himself so agreeable, and began at once to de-
334 JUBE'S JOURNEY.
monstrate his powers of usefulness so acceptably that
there was really no turning him out of doors.
The good fellow had some mechanical genius, and ex-
erted it to the delight of little Rose in furnishing her
play-house, and building sleds and wagons for Paul,
large enough for her to ride in. Then, Jube made such
a splendid horse, and never got tired of carrying her or
drawing the little sled on which she rode. When she
expressed a wish to ride on horseback, Jube lifted her
to his broad shoulders, or put out his foot, which in-
stantly swung itself into full canter, and away she went,
rushing off to " Canterbury Cross" in high glee.
To Mrs. Prior, both Jube and his little master were
objects of peculiar interest. Paul was eloquent in his
own language, and through its medium he conveyed
many pleasant fancies to the mind of Rose, and thus,
all in play, brought her through the first practice of a
study her mother had greatly at heart.
As the winter snows melted, and the sweet spring
days came on, it was pleasant to see Jube seated with
the children — at heart, almost as much of a child as
either of them — beneath a huge apple tree that stood in
the meadow, and covered one of the most lovely straw-
berry slopes in the world with its shadow.
As the bright days came on, the favor of instruction
was not altogether on one side. Rose had her own little
accomplishments, which she taught in shy triumph in
exchange for the sweet language and pretty names be-
stowed on her. She taught Paul how to curl dandelion
stems into innumerable ringlets, and made an astonish-
ing halter of daisy chains for Jube, that was not the
less perfect because it broke into a shower of white
blossoms at the first hard pull, and littered the grass
JUBE'S JOURNEY. 335
like a snow-storm. Then she could braid rushes seven
strands at a time, and weave them into such pretty
green baskets that Mrs. Prior considered them the pet
ornaments of her parlor.
Besides these accomplishments, Rose had a delicious
voice, and sung snatches of music at her work. These
wild strains so excited the robins in the apple tree
boughs that they forgot nest-building and love-making,
to join in a chorus that rang all over the meadow,
bringing other birds to see what it was all about, who
liked the premises, and built their nests also among
the sweet blossoms and leaves of dainty green, till
the old tree was a marvel for its feathered population.
I am afraid Rose sometimes followed Paul up into the
apple tree, taking shy peeps at the pretty blue eggs
which he exposed by sweeping the soft leaves back from
the nest with his hands. Once or twice Mrs. Prior
found her in a corner of the garret, making desperate
efforts to darn a long rent in her dress, and crying bit-
terly because the cloth would draw into knots and
gathers under her hand, more conspicuous than the ori-
ginal tear had been, which must have strengthened this
suspicion about the apple tree very much.
Of course the good lady remedied this evil with her
own deft little fingers, and Mrs. Mason was too busy
with other things just then to heed torn frocks or the
shamefacedness which on ordinary occasions would
have betrayed them.
Thus time wore on, till Mrs. Mason had become a
dashing performer on the piano, for she practiced day
and night on the accomplishments that she willed to
master, and in every thing made up for deficiencies by
audacious self-possession. Thus, while Rose and the
336 A CHILDISH CONSULTATION.
birds were singing out of doors, she sent a storm of
music through the open windows, which were just far
enough from the apple tree to excite the birds without
frightening them to death.
CHAPTER XLYII.
A CHILDISH CONSULTATION.
THE life which these children and their companion led
at Bays Hollow was quiet and peaceful, especially to those
strange beings, after the privations and bitter troubles
through which they had passed. The mournful look
that had seemed natural to Paul, went out from his
eyes, which grew soft or bright with changing feelings,
but the haggard anguish which had made their glance
so painfully sad, never came back to them. As for
Jube, he was like a Newfoundland dog — full of courage,
strength, and cheerfulness.
The minister and Mrs. Prior were a great deal happier
for having these children in the house. Indeed Mrs. P.
put on the most awkward little maternal airs, like a
great girl beginning to play with dolls late in life, for
which the minister admired her prodigiously. Once,
when they were quite alone, he observed in a dreamy
way, " That it was a sad pity such talent for govern-
ment should be exhausted on other people's children,"
at which Mrs. Prior went off in a spasm of blushes, and
the minister crept out of the room, quite ashamed of
himself, feeling that he had approached the verge of total
depravity in that unhappy speech.
A CHILDISH COXSULTATION. 337
One day when Paul and Jube were busy among the
strawberry vines in the meadow, searching, with great
anxiety, for the first tinge of red upon the slowly ripen-
ing fruit, for the boy was eager to secure a handful for
little Rose, that young lady was seen dashing through
the back door of the house, and running full speed
toward the strawberry hollow. Paul started up and
shook his head to indicate that there was no hope of
strawberries yet, while Jube, who was on all fours among
the virfes, lifted his broad face like an expectant dog,
and laughed till all his teeth shone again, with the joy-
ousness of her approach.
On she came, rushing through the fresh wind, her
curls floating out behind her, and her face full of wild
excitement.
"Something is the matter," said Paul, stepping for-
ward to meet her. " Who has frightened Rose, I should
like to know ?"
" Paul, Paul, come here, under the apple tree," were
the first breathless words of our little girl. " I want to
tell you something."
Paul took her hand with his usual gentle kindness,
and the two ran to the apple tree's shade.
" This is it," said Rose, panting for breath, while her
eyes sparkled like diamonds. " He has come — that man
who loves my mother so much. He's a going to marry
her right off, as sure as you live. Marry her — my own,
own mother — who never will love me again after that ;
never, never !"
Rose burst into a passion of tears, and flinging her-
self against the trunk of the tree wept bitterly.
Paul was greatly troubled ; not that he understood
21
338 A CHILDISH CONSULTATION.
the matter, but because it grieved him to see Rose cry
so bitterly.
" Oh," she exclaimed, dropping two dimpled hands
from her eyes, and stamping her tiny feet on the
grass, " oh dear, how I wish that Captain Thrasher was
dead."
Paul started, and turned very pale. " Jube, Jube,"
he called out, with a cry of pain.
Jube started up from his knees, and came running
toward the children.
" What is it — what is it, little masser ?"
" He is here, that bad man — he wants to marry Rose's
mother," cried the lad, flinging his arms around the
little girl, and looking the brave, bright boy he really
was.
"Who, who, little masser?" cried Jube, looking
around for some enemy.
" Captain Thrasher." Paul uttered the name in a
whisper.
Jube clenched his hand, looking fiercely toward the
house.
" He there, Masser Paul ?"
"Yes," said the angry child, shaking her little rose-
bud of a fist at the house. " He's there with my own
mother, this minute. He'll carry her off in spite of us
all."
" What can we do ?" said Paul, anxiously looking at
Jube.
" Couldn't you just kill him, Jube, as you did the
garter snake," cried Rose, shaking the drops from her
eager eyes.
Jube hesitated ; the fellow had a vague idea that some
one might object to this mode of settling the difficulty.
A CHILDISH CONSULTATION. 339
Paul drew back with affright. He had received a cruel
knowledge of the laws regarding human life, and the
reined}- pointed out by little Rose made him shrink.
"We must not ask Jube to be wicked," he said,
gently.
Rose dashed his hand away. " Isn't it wicked for
that man to come here after my own mother?" she
cried, indignantly.
" Yes, Rose; but it would be more wicked for Jube to
harm him. The* law, Rose, the law."
" Well, I don't care. What is the law ? If it's a man,
Jube can whip him, can't you, Jube ?" cried the little
damsel, going for belligerent rights with all her puny
strength.
" But it isn't a man, Rose," said Paul, solemnly. " It's
something that no one ever sees. It comes like death,
and when a person does wrong, even if it was a beauti-
ful lady, strikes her down till her heart breaks. It shuts
people up in prison."
" Oh don't, don't," cried Rose.
" It hangs 'em by the neck between two beams."
" Oh, how you frighten me, Paul."
" It hunts after a person who has done wrong, day
and night, and catches him at last. Oh, Rose, if you
only knew how cruel the law can be."
Rose hushed her sobs and drew close to Paul, quite
awe-stricken. "Never mind, Jube needn't do it. I'll
ask the minister to pray God to help us, that will be the
best thing."
"Yes," said Paul, brightening, "and I'll — no matter
about that, people shouldn't talk about these things,
but ' our Lady ' has done great things for people in
distress."
A CHILDISH CONSULTATION.
They sat down in a group under the apple tree, con-
sulting eagerly together. After awhile the parlor win-
dow opened, and a clear, ringing voice called out :
" Rose ! Rose Mason, I say."
" I must go," said the little girl, with a look of de-
plorable helplessness. " She'll want me to kiss him, but
I wont!"
Paul lifted her little hand to his lips, and kissed it
with touching grace.
" Don't be afraid, Rose. Jube wont let anybodj'
hurt you."
" I — I aint afraid," cried Rose, tossing her golden
curls. "He daren't kiss me, I know that."
She went away slowly, looking over her shoulder from
time to time during her progress toward the house.
The apple tree was not within sight of the parlor win-
dows, thus both Jube and Paul remained unseen by the
two people who occupied that room; an unfortunate
circumstance, perhaps, for their recognition might have
changed the whole course of events. As it was, both
Paul and Jube were anxious to keep out of sight. When
they left the meadow, Paul went to his room, and in the
simplicity of his faith, put up many an orison to the
Virgin, in behalf of this pretty friend. What else could
the child do ?
THE NECKLACE. 341
CHAPTER XLVIII.
PAUL SEES HIS MOTHER'S NECKLACE.
BEFORE Rose left the parlor she was so frightened and
subdued by her mother's stern reprimands, that all idea
of appealing for help forsook her. So she ran desperately
into a closet connected with her mother's chamber, fell
upon the floor, and cried herself to sleep, with her flushed
cheeks resting on two round arms, folded helplessly on
the bare boards.
Toward night, Mrs. Mason came up-stairs, looking
haughty and excited. Without heeding the child, who
lay just within the closet, with her curls scattered over
the threshold of the door, she began to open trunks and
bureaus, from which she drew first a heavy silk dress,
which just escaped being white by a tinge of pe;.rl
gray, some gossamer laces, and other indications of an
elaborate toilet. Then she let down her magnificent
hair, brushed out its glossy waves, and began to braid
it ; stopping now and then to rest her arms on -the table
before her, and sighing heavily, as if it required all her
energies to keep up that proud show of strength.
After wreathing these heavy braids around her head
in the form of a coronet, she arose and went to the closet
for something. Lo, there was her child prone upon the
floor, disturbed by her approach, and moaning at her
feet.
A person who deliberately does wrong, is almost sure
to be angry at any thing calculated to touch the con-
science. Mrs. Mason's cheeks flushed and her eyes
342 THE NECKLACE.
flashed at the sight of little Rose. She was tempted to
spurn the child with her foot, but restrained herself, only
touching the bare, white shoulder, with the point of her
slipper.
" Get up, child. Get up. What on earth are you
doing here ?"
The touch awoke Rose. She started to her feet, and
tried to shrink away.
" Stop, you naughty, disobedient child !" cried the
mother, seizing her by the shoulder. " You don't de-
serve it ; but see what a beautiful present Mr. Thrasher
has brought you — coral and pure gold — for your arms
and neck. There, Rosey posey, don't it make your eyes
dance ?"
The little girl's eyes did sparkle for a moment, but
directly they filled with tears.
" No, mother ; it's very pretty, but I don't want any
thing," she said, timidly.
The mother frowned.
" Go to Mrs. Prior this instant," she said ; "tell her
to dress you in the India muslin frock that I gave out
to be done up. Loop the sleeves with this coral. Mind
and let Mr. Thrasher see it on your neck and arms.
Oh, Mrs. Prior, I'm glad you've come ! Please have this
child properly dressed. There are the ornaments ; gp,
Rose, I have no time to spare ; be a good girl, and look
pretty to please mother."
" I'll — I'll try," sobbed the child, " only don't make me
wear them."
" Hush, or you'll make me angry, my dear. Mrs.
Prior, if you would hurry with her, and help me a little,
I really am so nervous."
"No wonder," answered Mrs. Prior, gravely, "the
whole thing is so sudden."
THE NECKLACE. 343
" Not with me," was the cold answer. " The day was
settled the last time Mr. Thrasher visited us ; but I did
not think it necessary to make it a subject of conversa-
tion with strangers."
" But we might have been better prepared," said Mrs.
Prior.
" Not at all necessary, as we go away in an hour after
the ceremony is performed."
" Go away, Mrs. Mason ?"
"Certainly."
"And little Rose ?"
The good woman's voice trembled.
"Ah, she will stay with you, heaven only knows how
long ! that is, if you will keep her — say at the price we
have been paying for both. She will have the piano for
practice, and you can keep the furniture to remember
me by."
" You are very kind."
" Not at all ; I know you will be good to Rose."
" Indeed I will !"
"And give her every accomplishment. Remember,
mone}^ is of no consequence."
" That which you offer is more than enough to pay
for all the knowledge or accomplishments I can teach,"
^gaid the little woman, conscientiously.
"If it isn't, say so, and we'll double it," answered
Mrs. Mason, with reckless munificence. " There is gold
enough in my work-box there to pay for three or four
years, if we do not send for her before that. You can
take box and all after we're gone, for I shall leave all
these things behind ; it's too much trouble to pack them
up. Use what you like, and cut over the rest for Rose
— the dresses, I mean. That brown silk for travelling
\vill bo nil I shall care for after the ceremony is ovci\"
344 THE NECKLACE.
" I hardly know how to receive this liberality," said
the little woman, with tears in her eyes. "It don't
seem right to accept it."
" Oh, nonsense ! Be a mother to Rose, and seem glad
to see us when we come after her. You have been very
kind to me, Mrs. Prior, and I feel it now, indeed I do."
There was a touch of genuine feeling in Mrs. Mason's
voice, as she bent forward and kissed Mrs. Prior on the
cheek, with lips that were red and dewy as rose-buds.
In her selfishness, she had not noticed Rose, who stood
clinging to Mrs. Prior's dress, growing paler and paler
at each word.
" Mother, are you going to leave me all alone !"
There was so much of sorrow in the child's voice that
it reached even that vain heart.
"Never mind, Roscy, dear," said the mother, kissing
the pale lips of her child. " It wont be long ; besides,
Mrs. Prior loves you dearly, and will be very kind."
"Indeed I will, darling," sobbed the little woman.
" So now cheer up, Rose, and run off to be dressed,"
added the mother, beginning to tire of the scene ; do
try and help me, Mrs. Prior, and see that your husband
is ready ; there must be no delay, for we have a long
ride before us."
Mrs. Prior hurried off with Rose to her own private .
room, and in a marvellous short time the little girl came
forth airy as a butterfly. The red coral glowing on her
face and neck, the India muslin floating around her
like a cloud.
Rose met Paul in the upper passage. He was looking
sadly troubled. She went toward him and laid her
hand in his.
" You are going ?" he said, interpreting the act from
his fears.
THE NECKLACE. 345
" No, they are going, Paul, but I am to be left behind."
The boy began to smile.
" And Mrs. Prior will be your mother ?" he said.
"Yes."
" Ah ! I'm so happy, so glad ; let me go tell Jube."
He attempted to descend the stairs but came back
again.
" One thing, Rose. I should like to see this gentle-
man, Captain Thrasher."
" Well, he's in the parlor."
" But I don't want him to see me."
" Oh, then I can't help you, Paul — there's no way."
Paul looked disappointed. That moment Mrs. Prior
came toward them from Mrs. Mason's room.
" What is the matter, Paul ?" she inquired, kindly.
" Oh, nothing," answered Rose, " only he wants to
see that hateful man."
" For shame, Rose!"
" Well, he wants to see Captain Thrasher, and he
don't want Captain Thrasher to see him !" persisted
Rose, 'shaking her head with pretty defiance.
" He wants to see a marriage — is that it ?" said Mrs.
Prior, whose kind heart was always prompting her to
the pleasure of others. " And you would like to have a
peep at this wedding? Rose, you will go into the
room ; but it is to be very private, you know, and I
can't let you in, Paul."
" No, no, I do not wish — I only want to see," cried
the boy, eagerly ; " I and Jube — one little minute, that
is all."
Mrs. Prior smiled and dropped into a moment's
thought.
'• Well," she said, "as you have set your heart upon
3i6 THE NECKLACE.
it, Paul, there can be no harm in letting you see them
married so long as it disturbs no one. There is the
door between the parlor and dining-room; the upper
half is glass. Just lift the curtain softly and look
through ; but remember, there must be no talking about
it. The whole thing is to be kept secret."
" I will not speak to any one, be sure," said Paul.
" Well, be in your room and I will call you at the
right time," said Mrs. Prior ; " but hurry away, now,
for she'll be going down-stairs in a minute."
Paul went to his room. Scarcely had he disappeared
when Mrs. Mason came forth ; the thick silken folds of
her dress rustling sumptuously, and with a carcanet of
gems flashing its tinted flame over the snow of her neck
and shoulders.
When Rose saw her mother the color died from her
face and she shivered as if with cold. Mrs. Mason was
too much excited to heed this. Taking the little hand
in hers, she led the child down-stairs, sweeping through
the hall like a sultana.
Mrs. Prior was struck with admiration at the* splen-
dor of her beauty, but depressed by this display of mag-
nificence for a wedding which was to be strictly private-
Her own refined taste revolted at the incongruity. In-
deed, Mrs. Mason herself seemed to feel something of
this, for she blushed even while giving her head a proud
lift, and observed, in a low voice :
" He would insist upon it. Nothing is rich enough
to satisfy him."
Paul found Jube in his room when he entered it.
" Be ready," he said. " We shall soon know if it is
the same man."
"But he may claim us, and say that I am his slave
again," said Julie, fi
THE NECKLACE.
" He will not see us. There, I hear the minister going
down. Be ready. Madame is coming to call us."
Mrs. Prior opened the door, and said : " Come," in a
quick, nervous whisper.
Paul and Jube followed her into the dining-room. A
crimson curtain hung over the sash which filled the
upper part of the door. Mrs. Prior drew it slightly in-
ward, leaving a crevice on each side, through which
Paul and Jube could see all that went forward in the
parlor without fear of observation.
The couple who were to be married, sat out of range
of the window, and at first they only saw the minister
saying something in a low voice to Mrs. Prior. She
went out and returned with the servant girl, who hung
shyly around the door, as if doubtful of the part she was
called upon to perform. Then there was a rustling of
silk, a general movement, and Paul saw the tyrant of
his sea-life standing before the minister, with Mrs.
Mason's hand clasped in his. He saw more — for the
Venetian blinds fell apart, and a gleam of sunshine quiv-
ered across the gems upon the bride's neck. A shudder
passed over him, he clung to a neighboring chair for
support, and breathlessly looked on. Every word of
that awful ceremony — for it was awful to him — fell upon
the boy's heart. When it was ended, and the woman
turned to the full light, a sick faintness crept over him,
and he fell into Jube's arms perfectly insensible. The
sight of his mother's necklace had overpowered the boy
with terrible memories.
348 A PALACE BEADY.
CHAPTER XLIX.
A PALACE READY FOE ITS MISTRESS.
AT the time of our story, New York Island was not
so thickly crowded with habitations as it is to-day.
Men who lived on the outskirts of the city could afford
grounds more or less spacious about their habitations.
Gardens were no uncommon luxuries, and lawns not al-
together unknown. Just far enough from the city for
retirement, yet sufficiently near for easy access, stood
a large mansion, which commanded a view of the Hud-
son, and was surrounded by forest trees, which had
doubtless sheltered many an Indian encampment. Slop-
ing lawns, flower gardens, and rustic arbors lent glow
and richness to every nook and vista of these grounds.
The house — a fine old family mansion — had been reno-
vated and altered so completely, since it had fallen into
the hands of the present proprietor, that the most inti-
mate friend of the former owner must have failed to
recognize it.
The solid stone walls had been faced with marble.
The small paned windows had given place to broad plate
glass, transparent as crystal. "Wreaths of rich sculp-
ture broke the snow-white front around the doors and
windows, while heavy scrolls of marble rolled down the
broad entrance steps, and antique heads enriched the
balconies. Two noble lions, with slumbrous limbs and
foamlike manes, crouched on the lower entrance steps,
and graceful vases, overflowing with rare and flowering
plants, stood on either hand by the door.
A PALACE READY. 349
The approach to this house was by a lodge gate, and
along the sweep of a gravelled carriage road, which held
a beautiful flower-garden in its curve. Every thing
about the dwelling was in perfect order — not a leaf dis-
turbed the emerald richness of the grass, not a broken
flower could be found in all that luxuriant waste of
blossoms. The English gardener had done his work
perfectly. There was not a footprint on the gravel
walk, nor a stain upon the whiteness of the marble.
Pure, rich, and beautiful, the house arose amid the bloom
and shade of tall trees and delicate flowers, like some
snow-white palace in fairy-land.
Every thing was silent within this house. Servants
moved about, it is true ; but they were too well trained
for any thing like confusion, and a state of expectation
kept them unusually quiet. The housekeeper went from
room to room, anxious that nothing should be out of
place, and a little nervous in her desire to please a mis-
tress whom she had never seen.
The truth is, that the household was in a state of
more general ignorance regarding the persons they were
hired to serve than usually falls to people of their class ;
but what was more remarkable, they knew as much, and
more of their master than any of the neighbors, with
whom he was an object of no little curiosity.
Mr. Nelson had come upon the neighborhood sud-
denly, whether from the east, west, north or south, no one
could pretend to say. Of course there was a great deal
of conjecture. A man of vast wealth and liberal educa-
tion he certainly was ; fine looking too, after a peculiar
style. Besides this, he appeared quite young enough to
be considered a desirable match for the most fastidious
belle in any one of the hundred and fifty circles that
350 A PALACE READY.
dispute the palm of aristocracy year by year, without
settling the question among themselves.
He had bought the old mansion house, paid for it in
cash, and taken up his residence in one wing, while the
alterations we have spoken of were going on. As a
bachelor his habits were very simple and his words few.
The best artisans were employed, and the most ex-
pensive books on gardening and architecture lay upon
the table in his room. He studied these books night
and day, for some weeks before the persons necessary
to his work were called around him. When they came
at last, he was prepared not only to take specifications,
but to suggest them, and that with an air of knowledge
that won profound respect from the persons with whom
he conversed.
It was impossible to tell, by this man's manners or
conversation, what his business in life had been. He
was always on his guard against the intrusiveness of
curiosity, always gentle, or rather stolidly quiet ; but
once or twice, when a man conceited in his art had
ventured to contradict him, the frown upon his forehead
had proved an ominous warning which no one cared to
provoke a second time.
During some months he had lived entirely at the old
mansion, watching its gradual transfiguration and super-
intending the changes with untiring assiduity. Two or
three times he had been absent for several days, but no
one knew where, and he gave no notice either of his in-
tended departure or return.
COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE. 351
CHAPTER L.
COMING HOME OP THE BRIDE.
AT last, when every thing was complete, and the
place stood out a paradise in comparison with the
most beautiful residences of the city, circumstances
arose that inflamed anew the curiosity of the household.
The entrance was haunted by tradespeople, bringing
packages that could only prove useful to a lady. All
this was a fitting preparation for the very quiet orders
which Mr. Nelson gave to his housekeeper, just as he
stepped into his carriage one morning.
" Hare every thing in readiness, Mrs. Ford," he said,
" fo* on the third day from this I shall bring my wife
home."
Mrs. Ford was a nice old English housekeeper,
brought up with profound reverence for her employers,
and early taught the useful lesson of minding her own
business, one of the most valuable secrets known to so-
ciety. Had this been otherwise she could have com-
manded no time for asking questions, for while making
this announcement, Mr. Nelson stepped into the car-
riage, and drove off without vouchsafing another word.
Mrs. Ford went back to the quiet performance of her
duties, wondering a little what kind of a person this
new mistress would prove, and doubtful whether it was
a bride or a wife of long standing, whom she would be
called upon to obey.
The appointed days passed by, and the whole house-
hold, as I have said, was in a state of expectation. A
352 COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE.
low hum came up from the city, as if a vast hive of bees
were swarming, but the sound was so distant and faint,
that it rather deepened the quiet of the place. All at
once the noise of wheels inside the lodge gate sounded
distinct, and grew stronger, till a carriage, from which
a lady looked forth with every appearance of keen in-
terest, swept up to the front entrance.
Mr. Nelson stepped out of the carriage, looking
almost nervously anxious.
" This is our home, Ellen. Tell me that you like it,
and will be happy here," said the master of the mansion,
holding her hand tightly as they stood on the lower step
together.
The lady lifted her eyes to the beautiful facade, and
for the moment seemed overpowered by its great beauty.
" Why, Nelson, this is a palace," she said, while a
glow of triumphant vanity spread over her face. •
"To what else should I bring my queen?" he an-
swered, bending his flushed face toward her and speak-
ing in a voice that thrilled with passionate tenderness.
" Oh, Ellen, my wife, if you desired the stars of heaven
I would strive to reach them for you."
" How very, very beautiful it is !" she exclaimed,
gazing around with triumph beaming in her face, utterly
ignoring his passionate outburst. " I have dreamed of
such places, but never saw them. Nelson, we shall live
like princes here !"
"Princes are not always happy," he said, smiling
upon her in a way that only a naturally grave man ever
smiles. " But we, Ellen, we will let neither discord or
care come near us. If gold can hedge us in we will
heap walls so high that nothing but love can reach us."
"Ah, these are not dreams," she said, drawing a deep
COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE. 353
breath. " The man who has power enough to create a
palace like this, makes no false boast when he talks of
golden walls."
She stood a moment, drinking in the scene with
greedy admiration. Then, for the first time that day,
she turned her eyes full upon Nelson's face, and smiled
upon him.
"You are pleased, my wife."
" I am delighted, Nelson."
" Nelson 1 when I call you wife?" he v said, with re-
proachful tenderness.
"Well, husband."
As the word left her lips an unaccountable pallor
spread over both their faces. Instead of the happiness
he expected, the husband of two days felt a pang so
heavy that it made him shrink ; and the woman — she
had. uttered the word before, and under different sur-
roundings !
With a sudden and heavy cloud upon them these
persons turned from each other without speaking, and
mounted the steps.
To have seen Mrs. Nelson passing along the tressel-
lated floor of the vestibule, where the servants were
gathered to receive her, you would have believed that
she had trod on Gobelin carpets all her life. The good
housekeeper, who had dwelt in the atmosphere of nobility
from her cradle up, was absolutely struck dumb by the
queenliness of her presence, and thought in her heart
that the new mistress must have come from abroad, or
at least have been educated there.
Mrs. Nelson saw the impression she had made, and
this gave graciousness to her presence which completely
subdued the group of dependants into admiration. She
22
354 COMING HOME OF THE BRIDE.
said a few patronizing words to each, and passing
through the vestibule, entered upon her new life with a
degree of graceful self-possession which astonished even
her husband.
And now commenced a career such as few persons
ever carried out so triumphantly. Mrs. Nelson had
wealth, unbounded beauty, education quite sufficient
for the demands of fashion, and a craving ambition for
notoriety, which was sure to make its way. Gold, in
America, proves a sure road to this kind of distinction,
and the great lever of republican society was used with-
out stint or measure in this singular household.
Mrs. Nelson had seized on the insinuation, half put
as a question by the housekeeper, regarding her foreign
appearance, and accepted it as a truth — nay, more — so
absorbing was her vanity that she allowed it to be under-
stood that the great wealth which astonished everybody
came into Mr. Nelson's hands through her own munifi-
cent affection ; an idea that Mr. Nelson rather encour-
aged by his silence and entire submission to her will in
all things.
It was not many months before the beautiful Mrs.
Nelson became a star of magnitude in the fashionable
circles of New York. Of course she was an object of
great interest; when curious persons inquired about
her origin, they were answered that she was an Ameri-
can by birth, but had spent most of her life abroad with
her first husband, who had left her a young and beautiful
widow with enormous wealth. This wealth she had be-
stowed on Mr. Nelson, who, after travelling all over the
world, had fallen in love with her at first sight, and still
regarded her with a sort of adoration, as erwybody
could see.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL. 355
If there was any thing hollow or false in all this, the
most intimate person in that magnificent household
never could find the proof. True, Mr. Nelson was not
a gay or particularly cheerful husband, but that might
be said of a thousand other men with dashing wives ; it
was, after all, a matter of constitution only. Certainly
the lady was altogether the most popular of the two.
The material style of her beauty was of that sumptuous
order which wealth embellishes to its greatest perfec-
tion. She was witty, gay, and for all the superficial
uses of society, a fascinating woman, whom the most
ultra among the fashionable, were glad to recognize as
a leader. Thus, unlimited control of wealth, and un-
flinching assurance, placed the widow Mason, in a few
short months, in the very heart of our Metropolitan
society.
CHAPTER LI.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL.
THERE is no unendurable sorrow which is not the
cut-growth of some sin. A peaceful conscience cannot
be rendered altogether miserable, place it where you will.
You would not have suspected that the fair young
creature who sat within those prison bars from morning
till night, when her misery was lost in the darkness, had
been charged with the dread crime of murder. Indeed,
a person with quick sensibilities might have regarded
her rather as some gentle martyr, waiting to seal her
faith by sublime suffering, for a more heavenly face than
356 THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL.
hers never appeared behind the rusted gratings of a
dungeon.
Up to this time, Katharine had been a bright and
very beautiful girl ; such graces as youth, bloom, and
cheerfulness give, she had possessed in perfection, but
she was something more now. The roses had died on
her cheeks, but a pure whiteness rested there, more
lovely by far. The dimples had faded from the corners
of her mouth, but an expression of holy sweetness was
left behind, that sometimes deepened to a smile when
any one spoke to her with unusual kindness. But her
eyes — those who have seen the original Beatrice Cenci,
where it hangs an embodied sorrow in that old Roman
palace, would ask no farther description of the look
which slept forever in the deep blue orbs of the Ameri-
can girl ; there was, indeed, a difference to be felt rather
than portrayed. Through all the exquisite sadness in
those eyes, a terrible remembrance sleeps, which leads
you to forgive, but not altogether acquit, the Cenci.
But with Katharine nothing but sublime innocence lay
beneath the sorrow. The expression of the living eyes
was mournful as those of the immortal picture, but you
looked upon them with less pain.
Thus in the twilight of her prison she sat reading the
family Bible, which had been brought to that place by
her mother. It was an old book, worn with much hand-
ling, the paper yellow with age, and the leathern cover
broke at the corners. Since Katharine's remembrance,
this Bible had occupied the round candle stand by her
mother's bed. When that singular woman first entered
the prison, after giving up her home, she laid this most
precious of her treasures upon the young girl's lap,
without speaking a word. Katharine knew what this
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL. 357
act imported, and bowed her fair head in thankfulness,
for she sorely lacked the comfort those holy pages might
bring.
Katharine had never been a great reader, but her in-
tellect was clear, and her heart, rendered earnest by suf-
fering, seized upon the solemn truths of that book as a
flower absorbs the air and sunshine, until she grew
strong beneath their lessons.
Not long after that Bible was laid in her lap, much
of the horrible dread of death went out from her soul.
In its holy pages she found how tranquilly innocence
could die, how trustfully it could repose in the hands of
God, and from that day the sublime beauty that I have
mentioned dawned on her face.
Thus, as I said awhile ago, Katharine sat in her
prison, reading. The Bible lay open on her lap"; but
while her eyelids drooped, and their lashes shaded those
deep blue orbs, they were tinged with the depths of their
color, as violets cast purple shadows where the sun
touches them. The golden tresses of her hair, embraided
around her head, scintillated the sunbeams that fell
through her prison bars like a glory. Her dress was
white dimity, a fabric much worn in those days, which
fell heavily around her like the marble drapery of a
statue. Thus she was surrounded with a whiteness
which threw her figure out in strong relief from a back-
ground of shadows gathering on the walls of her dun-
geon.
As the last sunbeam left the heavy bars that rusted
across the window, she lifted her eyes and waited, with
one hand — alas ! snow-white from confinement — resting
upon the open page. A footstep near the door, and the
jingle of keys, had disturbed her. She looked earnestly
358 THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL.
toward the noise until the door opened. Then the ex-
pression of her face grew animated. She laid the Bible
down upon her bed, and moved forward with both hands
extended.
" You have come ; ah, I knew it ; when did you break
a promise. v
The old man who entered took her hand softly be-
tween his two hard palms, and glancing at the open
Bible, said :
" You were well employed, child ; I can bring you no
better company than that."
Katharine looked back upon the Bible, smiling faintly,
the only way she ever smiled in those days.
" Yes, I know," she said ; " but you look pale, have
you brought news for me ?"
" Yes, dear," said old Mrs. Thrasher, coming forward
and kissing the prisoner, "he brings news, but keep a
good heart. God is above all."
Katharine bent her head an instant and stood before
them in silence, then she looked gravely up and said :
" Is it to-morrow."
" Yes, Katharine, it is to-morrow ; are you ready ?"
answered the old man.
" Yes, father, I am ready."
Her voice was low, but clear as the fall of water-
drops.
" I am ready to live or to die as God shall will it.
Our Lord has told me how to do both."
"Blessed be his holy name!" broke forth the old
man.
"Amen," whispered the gentle woman by his side.
Katharine clasped her hands and lifted her eyes
upward, while her lips moved silently.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL. 359
" We have good counsel ; every thing has been done
that lies within mortal power," said Mr. Thrasher.
" I know it. The lawyers were here questioning me.
They told me it might be soon, but to-morrow — that is
sudden."
"But it will be over in a little while," said Mrs.
Thrasher, anxious to throw in her mite of consolation.
" Yes, it will be over, and then "
Katharine's voice trembled. She was so young, poor
thing, and sometimes her timid nature fell away from
the faith that gave it strength, and shuddered at the
death before her.
" Then and now we must put our faith in Him," an-
swered the old man, with tender solemnity.
" I know— I do, father !"
There was something very sweet in the way she ut-
tered this little word "father." Indeed, Katharine had
been brought to trust in the old man so thoroughly
that she followed him as a lamb keeps by the side of its
shepherd. But for his mild, firm teachings, the poor
child must have fallen under the burden of her misfoi*-
tunes, and the sorrow of her young life might have taken
a different course.
"What is sorrow, what is death itself, compared to
the pangs of guilt, my child ?"
" I know, father, but death seems terrible to me some-
times when I am alone here in the night."
Mrs. Thrasher began to sob and Mrs. Allen looked
down upon her child in pale grief.
"Ah, why cannot I, who am old, and used to trouble,
take her place," she said, drearily.
" Yes, mother, I want courage. At first, when they left
me, I was a coward, but it is not so of late, at least not
often. Something here grows stronger every day."
860 THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL.
The girl laid one hand on her heart, while a soft glow
came to her face.
"And that is faith," said Mr. Thrasher.
" It seems like a living presence ; as if my babe had
turned to an angel, and were folding its wings here.
How can any one think I killed it — I who gloried so in
being its mother."
" We know that you never harmed it," said Mrs.
Allen. " That is one comfort, my child."
" No, no ; we never thought it, neither your father nor
your two mothers," said Mrs. Thrasher, planting her-
self by Mrs. Allen's side ; thus suggesting her own right
to be considered.
"It is strange," said Katharine, thoughtfully, "very
strange that any one can believe such things of a poor
girl. I am sure no woman in the world ever got this
idea of herself."
"No woman would have the heart to think it," mut-
tered Mrs. Thrasher ; "but the law, that is stern and
cruel enough for any thing."
" To-morrow it will prove cruel with me, I am sure,"
said Katharine; "when they took me away from home
the little children looked after me as if there was blood
on my clothes. It made my heart ache to see their
frightened faces at the windows as the wagon went by.
If children can judge one so harshly, what will a court
full of stern men do."
" The men who look so stem are sometimes very kind
at heart," said Mr. Thrasher.
Katharine lifted her eyes to his face.
" You will be there, father, and you — and you, my
mothers ?"
"Yes, Katharine, we will be there," said both the
women at once.
THE DAY BEFORE TRIAL. 361
" And a greater than they will be there, Katharine,"
added the old man, solemnly, and resting one hand on
her head a moment, he turned away.
The two women saw that his lip quivered as he passed,
through the door, but to Katharine he was an embodi-
ment of sublime strength, and it took away half her
courage when his shadow disappeared from the threshold
of her prison. Alas, she was nothing but a girl, timid
from v,-;iut of experience, and greatly dependent for
strength on those she loved. When Katharine Allen
was left alone she began to realize that the day of her
great trouble was near at hand. A faintness like that
of death itself crept over her, and she sat down in the
midst of her dungeon chamber, sinking down upon the
floor in a wild, dreary way, that would have brought
tears to the eyes of her worst enemy.
By many an anxious question she had won from the
jailer a general knowledge of the forms which attend a
criminal trial. She knew that crowds of curious people,
perhaps coarse-hearted people, would jostle her on the
way to prison — that scores on scores of eyes would fol-
low her with hate and loathing. She saw the band of
jurors grasping her life in their will, listening with heavy
countenances to the evidence of a crime that was not
hers, but of which it seemed impossible that any human
tribunal could absolve her.
Then, going to and from the trial, little children
would look up at her as they had done when she passed
the red school-house at Shrub Oak, some with timid
pity, others with coarse amazement, and others still
ready to break forth into hoots and sneers, as if some
abhorrent animal had crossed their path. These thoughts
were hard to endure. She had so dearly ly\'ed, iilliu.
362 THE STREETS AND COURT HOUSE.
children, and turned so naturally for affection toward
all living things, that the edict of hate, though un-
deserved, made her shrink with absolute pain.
She took up her Bible and tried to read, but the let-
ters ran together on the page, harassing her sight, but
giving back no sense. Thus the evening found her
going out into blank space till the darkness crept
through her prison bars and fell over her like a pall.
CHAPTER LII.
THE STREETS AND THE COURT HOUSE.
THE next day found a crowd around the court house,
hours before the time for opening — an eager-eyed, jost-
ling throng, to whom a trial for life was sure to bring
keen excitement of some kind. In a Puritan State,
where places of amusement are seldom found, any thing
calculated to excite public curiosity is an event which
makes the most painful occasions a sort of holiday for
the populace. The horrible fascination which a trial like
that always possesses for the human mind was added to
other feelings with which the people of that day fre-
quented the courts of justice, and any trial which had a
tragic interest for the people, drew crowds around the
court house, full of eager curiosity, and sometimes
almost ferocious excitement — crowds which watched the
progress of events like men enthralled by the horror of
a terrible play.
The events which caused the arrest of Katharine Al-
THE STREETS AND COURT HOUSE. 363
len had been a favorite theme of conversation for months.
Public excitement was at its highest pitch ; and, when
the day of her trial came, a stranger, passing through
the streets, might have believed that some event was
transpiring in which the highest interests of the whole
community were at stake.
A crowd gathered about the old jail, which loomed up
in the midst of the town — a dark monument of human
sorrow and human crime. A moving throng was in
every street which led from thence to the court house — •
men, women, and little children, brought out as for a
holiday show, all waiting, breathless and eager, for the
appearance of the poor girl they were ready to hunt to
an ignominious death.
Now and then you passed a face that looked grave or
sad, as if the moral lesson of that trial was felt, and not
without sympathy for the poor young creature who was
to be its object.
The crowd had been waiting for hours, and so singu-
larly organized is this miserable human nature of ours,
so dependent are our feelings upon the position in which
we are placed, so completely do our sympathies waver
to and fro, according to our particular situation, that it
was noticeable, as time wore on, that murmurs grew
harsher and more sullen. The hard faces grew harder ;
even those which had expressed something akin to pity
lost their softness, and wherever a knot of such women
as love scenes of this kind were gathered, execrations
and complaints against the criminal were the most
severe and cruel.
At last there was a little bustle in the jail yard ; the
crowd responded by eager murmurs. Slowly the heavy
gates swung open ; a simultaneous rush was made
364 THE STREETS AND COURT HOUSE.
toward them, and it required all the efforts of the armed
constables to force back the eager mob.
At length, a passage was made down the street, and the
crowd pushed back on either side. Then slowly, with
a dull, ominous sound, a wagon, drawn by a single horse,
rolled out of the jail yard and took its way through the
street.
In this wagon, with an officer upon either side, sat
Katharine Allen.
She was deadly pale, her sunny hair, too bright for a
scene like that, was brushed smoothly back under her
bonnet ; a large shawl was thrown over her white dress,
and she sat between her guards so still and silent that
she hardly seemed conscious of her position, or terrified
by the danger which gathered closer and closer about
her.
A new murmur of pity went up from the people who
thronged the sidewalks. In her statue-like quiet, the
girl looked so young and fair, it appeared incredible
that she could have been guilty of the crime with which
she was charged.
At that sound, Katharine raised her head quickly,
her great eyes wandered to and fro, hopeless, helpless,
a vivid crimson swept over her whole countenance, then
it faded almost as quickly as it came, leaving the features
paler than before. With a low moan, the poor young
creature closed her eyes, her lips moved tremulously.
Amid all the terror of that scene — with judgment and
death so near — a calm, such as she had not before felt,
settled down upon her soul.
I do believe that in that hour of supreme agony, God
sent His angels to whisper comfort and peace. By no
human law could one have accounted for the change
which came over her.
THE STREETS AND COURT HOUSE. 865
On through the street passed the little cortege, the
constables marching in front, and pushing aside the
people, who, faithful to their New England instincts,
yielded almost ungrumblingly to the dictates of those
armed with the power they sd reverenced — that of the
law.
Katharine did not look up again ; the deathly pallor
had left her face ; but around the lips, which still moved
at intervals, a smile had settled like a ray of sunlight.
It was a glorious morning ; the sun lay golden and
warm upon the town ; it fell caressingly upon the girl
in the prison wagon, revealing her broadly to the rude
gaze of those curious eyes.
As they approached the court house, the crowd grew
denser. The wagon moved more and more slowly, and
the people grew keenly eager, as if curiosity and interest
had reached a climax when the victim was about dis-
appearing from their sight.
The court rotmi was a bare, gloomy apartment, where
every thing seemed to deepen the usual horror connected
with such a place — a dark chamber where the shadows
never wholly dispersed. No matter how brightly the
sun shone without, the golden radiance broke against the
window panes, as if frightened by the appearance of the
place, and in passing through the dusty windows,
seemed to lose all brilliancy and warmth.
On that day it was packed with a dense crowd,
all waiting eagerly for the entrance of the girl whose
conviction they had come to witness.
Every one was there — the judge upon his bench, cold
and silent as a marble image of justice ; the jury in
their box, and, a little way off, the witnesses.
Mrs Allen sat by the side of old Mr. Thrasher ; he
366 THE STREETS AND COURT HOUSE.
had taken her hand, meaning to speak some last word
of consolation, but the agony in her eyes froze the
words upon his lips ; he could only hold fast to that
withered hand, which in her anguish she wrenched away
from him, impatient everTof sympathy.
The dead silence of the court room was broken by a
dull murmur from without, through which the rattle of
the wagon wheels was distinctly audible.
A sound upon the stairs — the tread of heavy feet,
and the door swung slowly upon its hinges. A shiver
ran through Mrs. Allen's frame ; she sank heavily back,
moaning. She knew that her child had been brought
in ; she heard the bustle with which they placed her in
the criminal's seat, but when she tried to raise her eyes
it seemed as if the lids had turned to iron.
When silence was again restored she made one violent
effort and looked up. Katharine was sitting still and
white in her place of shame. The mother half rose,
with a vague impulse to rush forward and save her
child. That moment Katharine lifted her heavy eyes,
and met that longing gaze — unconsciously she extended
her arms.
" Mother I oh, mother!"
The words died on those white lips in a moan so faint
that it failed to reach the most eager listener. Then
the stern old woman leaned heavily back in her seat,
and fainted away so quietly that no human soul was
aware of it.
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE. 367
CHAPTER LIU.
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE
OUT upon the steps of the court house were a couple
of men who had been Mrs. Allen's neighbors, and had
known Katharine from childhood. There they stood,
unable to gain entrance to the court — talking one to the
other in subdued voices.
At last, a man from the same neighborhood forced his
way through the crowd upon the stairs and hurried up
to the spot where they stood.
The men turned toward him with eager questions,
while he wiped his face with a huge silk pocket handker-
chief, breathing hard, like a man who had been engaged
in some painful struggle.
" How do they get on, Mr. Amos ?" asked one of the
men.
" They've just had her mother up," he answered, in a
low voice. " I couldn't stand it a minit longer — I felt
as if I was choking to death."
" What did she say ?"
" Oh, it wasn't that. She went toward the stand
quiet enough, but just as they held the Bible out to her
she looked up at Katharine, and begun to shake so that
one of the constables had to take hold of her."
"What did the girl do?"
" She kind o' raised herself and looked at her mother.
I can't tell you what it was like. I've seen a lamb look
like it when the knife was at its throat. The old woman
tried to stand up firm, but when she saw that poor cretur
368 THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE.
she just laid her head down on the railing and begun
shaking and sobbing like every thing, but she didn't
shed a single tear. When she lifted her head again,
Katharine looked at her and smiled. She did actually,
but it was enough to break a man's heart. I'd rather
a seen her cry right out a thousand times."
The farmer paused here, took out his silk handker-
chief again, and turned his face away.
"Poor gal," muttered one of his listeners ; " it seems
as if it was only yesterday I see her dancing about like
a little poppet, with her curls hanging down her shoul-
ders. I can't believe she did it, I can't, in spite of every
thing ; 'taint in natur."
" What's that they are sajdng ?" cried one of the
group. " The doctor's called up ; I want to hear his
evidence. Come, let's try and crowd in."
The two men joined forces, and elbowed their way
into the court room again, not unfriendly to the poor
girl, as our readers have seen, but resolved against
losing a single feature of the scene they had come ten
miles to witness.
It was, indeed, the doctor whose name had been called.
He was enrolled among the witnesses of the prosecu-
tion ; but those who knew that eccentric, but really
great man, had an idea that, in attempting to criminate
the poor girl by that witness, the law would find its
match. The lawyers themselves partook somewhat of
this feeling, and rather shrunk from the keen sarcasm
and sly wit with which he was likely to retort upon any
professional encroachment. As for his old neighbors,
the doctor's evidence was a point in the trial which en-
gaged their keenest interest. They held a sort of pro-
perty right in the doctor's reputation for curt ecceu-
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE. 369
tricity, and were anxious to pit him against the lawyers
in the most striking manner before the assembled wis-
dom of all Connecticut.
Thus, hundreds of faces, familiar about Bungy, Falls
Hill, and Chewstown, brightened eagerly when the doc-
tor's name was called out, and murmurs ran through the
crowd that now those city lawyers would find their
match. No mistake about it !
The doctor, who had been sitting in a corner of the
court room, watching the proceedings with vigilant at-
tention, heard his name called, and arose. You would
hardly have known the man, as he made a slow progress
toward the witness stand. The usual quaint smile had
left his lips, and his eyes, always full of droll or sarcastic
humor, were bright with the dignity of an earnest pur-
pose. He stood upon the witness stand, leaning heavily
on his crutches ; but, notwithstanding this disadvantage,
a dignity was imparted to his presence that no one
could resist — you would not have believed that a droll
saying had ever passed those lips.
The prisoner leaned forward, clasped her hands, and
pressing them heavily on her lap, looked at him in
wild dismay. The change in all his features struck her
with terror ; it seemed as if he had suddenly turned her
enemy.
The doctor observed this wild astonishment, and his
face softened a little ; nay, those stern features began to
quiver, and he was obliged to look down a moment to
recover himself.
" May it please the Court," he said at length, motion-
ing the person away who came forward to administer
the oath. " I am a physician, and bound by a profes-
sional oath not to reveal the secrets of my patient. I
23
370 THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE.
am not sure tbat any knowledge which I have would
bear against this poor girl, and from the depths of my
heart I believe her innocent, but I ask to be excused
from bearing evidence in the case."
There was a moment's consultation among the coun-
sel. That for the prosecution sprung up as if there had
been high treason in the doctor's speech, and insisted
that no distinctions should be made in his favor. A
great crime had been committed against the Common-
wealth, an unnatural crime, and the ends of justice de-
manded that every means should be used for obtaining
the truth. The judge yielded to, or rather sustained
his argument, and the doctor was courteously desired
to take the oath.
A gleam in the doctor's eye, and a keen glance at the
prosecuting attorney, prepared his friends for a sharp
encounter of wits, but he was a man to rise steadily with
the occasion. Terrible interests were at stake here, and
his true character rose out of its eccentricity. He took
the oath reverently, and stated the facts already known
to the reader, in a clear, impressive manner that told
greatly upon the jury, but sheltering himself within the
strict limits of the law, he volunteered nothing, neithei
did he shrink from any question propounded to him ;
all this struck his friends with a sort of awe. They
were profoundly impressed by the dignity of his course,
but a little disappointed, nevertheless. Once the doctor
turned and looked anxiously on the prisoner. It was
when the lawyer asked if Katharine had exhibited any
anxiety to conceal the birth of her child from the
neighbors — if, in fact, she had not requested the doctor
to keep it a secret.
The doctor hesitated, moved uneasily, and half wheeled
THE DOCTOR'S EVIDENCE. 371
around, as if determined to leave the witness stand, for
he knew what effect his answer would have.
Katharine leaned more decidedly toward him, and
while the court was hushed under a general anxiety to
hear his reply, her sweet, clear voice penetrated through
the silence.
" Speak, doctor ; I did ask you not to tell — I was
afraid of what they would think."
The officer stepped forward to enforce silence, and
the prisoner shrunk back affrighted.
Now the doctor's stern lip began to quiver, and his
keen eyes flashed sharp as steel through the tears that
shot into them, for the first time, perhaps, since his
manhood.
"Yes," he said, "if you will force me to it — she did
make this request ; but it was only for a little delay.
The poor child wished her secret kept till some one
should return."
"And who was that person ?"
Katharine's lips parted, and she held her breath with
keen interest till the answer was given.
" I do not know."
"And she never told you ?"
" She never did."
"And you have no suspicion who this person was ?"
" Suspicion is not evidence. I have no knowledge."
The questions now took a professional turn, and the
doctor's evidence bore strongly in favor of the prisoner.
His deep knowledge, and clear elucidation of medical
theories bearing on the case, made a deep impresssion
upon the jury, and threw out gleams of light that were
adopted with avidity by the defence.
Indeed, the doctor, acting himself under a clear con-
372 THE VERDICT.
viction of the prisoner's innocence, contributed more
than any other person in fastening the same idea upon
the court. But one terrible fact remained immovable —
the burial of the child. The apparent forethought by
which this had been accomplished. The time seized
upon during the absence of the mother. What eloquence
could sweep these fatal truths from the case ? None,
none !
CHAPTER LIT.
THE VERDICT.
ONCE more Mrs. Allen was put upon the stand to
undergo the questions which had been so fruitless with
the doctor. It was this point of the case alone which
struck terror to the prisoner. When a question was
asked which apparently threatened to drag her hus-
band's name through that tortuous investigation, her
lips would blanch and her eyes fill with sharp anxiety.
Thus her face gleamed out white and ghastly when Mrs.
Allen was put under the torture of new questions. The
mother looked at her gravely, and turned to the judge ;
but when the attorney proceeded with his interrogations,
she answered simply :
" I am her mother. Let me go."
They did let her go. The attorney had no heart to
press that pale, tortured woman farther, and became
generous, partly from humanity, partly because there
was something in the face of his witness which warned
him that nothing short of death would force her to
speak.
TLIE VERDICT. 373
Unfortunately he had evidence enough, and could
afford to take this poor mother from the rack of his
questions.
When this danger was over, the prisoner fell back
into her previous state of gentle resignation. So long
as her husband's reputation was safe, so long as his
name was kept out of the proceedings, she had no feel-
ing of resistance.
The business of the court went on. All the details
of that strange death and burial, so far as known evi-
dence could give them, were laid before the court. The
prisoner heard them like one in a dream. Once or twice
she lifted those mournful eyes as some detail struck
suddenly on her remembrance ; but the connecting
links being deficient in her mind, baffled its conscious-
ness. Then a change came upon the court. The wit-
ness stand was empty, and a tall, hard-faced man stood
before the judge, pledging himself to prove her guilt
Katharine heard him with a sort of dreary amazement
How sturdily he denounced her. How bitter were his
words. How cruelly sharp those dark eyes as they
turned from the jury to her face. Poor thing, it seemed
very cruel. What had she done that a strong man
should hunt her to death with his words.
Then another man arose. She knew him, for he had
visited her in prison. The look which he cast upon her
was full of compassion. He pleaded for her like one
inspired. His face was pale with emotion — his voice
faltered and his eyes filled when he turned to make a
last appeal to the twelve men who held her life in their
hands. In the midst of this appeal, Katharine came
out of her dream and began to weep from self pity.
Her sufferings all rose vividly before her, but it seemed
374 THE VERDICT.
another person she was pitying, not herself. She met
the softened glances turned toward the place where she
sat with tender sympathy, as if they were all deploring
the misery of some third person. Thus, a faint glow
shone out from the pallor of her face, which deepened
the sentiment in her behalf.
Then the judge arose with his face to the jury. His
voice was slow and grave, his countenance sad. She
could not comprehend him. He was neither stern like
her enemy, nor pathetic like her friend. Still, under his
seriousness she felt that some pity for her youth existed.
When he sat down she gave him a long, sorrowful
look, which he broke by lifting one hand to his face as
if those eyes troubled him.
The twelve men arose and went out, one after another,
like mourners at a funeral. Then a murmur ran through
the court, and suppressed whispers went from lip to lip.
She knew that these men held her life, but could not
realize that their fiat was so near. Time went by. It
might have been minutes, it might have been hours, for
aught she knew, since those men had left their seats
empty. The court was still thronged. The judge sat
in his arm-chair, shrouding his face with one hand.
A faint bustle. The twelve men glided into their old
places, and a voice, deep, solemn, and stern, spoke out :
"Prisoner, look upon the jury — -jury, look upon the
prisoner."
Katharine stood up. Those twelve men met her mourn-
ful gaze with shrinking glances.
" Guilty, or not guilty ?"
" Guilty ! But not of murder in the first degree.
Not guilty unto death !"
There was a hushed tumult in the crowd. Those who
THE VERDICT. 375
looked upon her face rejoiced that she was saved the
last penalty. Some muttered bitterly against the ver-
dict, and grew indignant with the jury for depriving
them of a death spectacle ; and a few said, in their
hearts, this verdict is unjust — that young creature is
innocent.
Katharine sat down ; a band, hard and firm as iron,
that had seemed tightening around her heart all the day,
broke, and flooded her being with tears. Poor, poor
child ! she had been so afraid to die. Amid all her hero-
ism, there was a perpetual dread, which made her
gentle nature shrink from the horror before her. Be-
sides, death would take her away from him, perhaps,
forever and ever. This thought had been the most cruel
of all. But it was over now. They would not take her
life — she might see him again — he would love her all the
better for having shielded his name from this trouble
and disgrace ; at any rate, she would not die, she would
not die.
Overwhelmed with these feelings, she heard nothing
that was going on in the court, but sat with her hands
clasped and quivering in her lap, while the tears fell,
drop by drop, down her cheeks, whispering :
" I live ! I live ! and shall see him again !"
A voice called forth her name, commanding her to
stand up and hear the sentence of the coui't.
She arose, supporting herself by the railing, for the
last few moments had left her very weak. Her eyes
were full of tears. She saw the judge through a mist,
and his words sounded from a great distance.
" Condemned to sit upon a gallows, erected on the
public common of New Haven, for one hour, with a
halter around your neck ; and, after that, to be confined
376 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in the State's Prison, at Simsbury Mines, during eight
years."
She heard words of kindly encouragement and en-
treaty to use the mercy extended by the court as a
means of repentance. Her great sin, unnatural cruelty.
Time for reformation — fragments like these floated by
her, but they left no impression. She only compre-
hended one thing- — they had given her life ! life ! life 1
life I
She sunk on her knees as the judge ceased, buried her
face on the criminal's seat — and thanked God that he had
permitted her to live. The old widow had sat through it
all quiet — as great suffering most frequently is — pale as
death, but with a certain stern fortitude which a Spartan
mother might have felt without shame. "When the jury
came in she arose with slow unconsciousness, and stood
upright in the presence of the court, her gray eyes
heavy with anguish, her white lips parted in au agony
of suspense. Guilty, but not unto death. She lifted her
clasped hands feebly upward, and fell back, sobbing like
a little child.
CHAPTER LV.
THK TRAIL OP THE SERPENT.
No more brilliant house than that of Mrs. Nelson
could be found in the city of New York. This woman
had flashed upon society like a meteor. Her dress — •
her style so original that they were taken to be foreign.
Her quick wit and sumptuous beauty won hosts of ad-
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 377
mirers. Her carriage was the most splendid and nobly
appointed of any that appeared in the fashionable
thoroughfares. Every thing rich and unique that a
prodigal taste could imagine or money obtain, was to
be found in her home. All the costly adornments which
her husband had prepared for her, with so much solici-
tude, were crowded into side rooms and entrance halls,
while she filled the principal apartments after a fancy
entirely her own. The great joy of her life was in
spending money, and in parading the result before the
world. To defy emulation and excite envy was her
crowning desire. Yet, with all this prodigality, she was
never generous, never felt the sweet impulses of charity,
or knew the gentle bliss of self-sacrifice.
It sometimes, nay, often happens, that those who rise
from poverty to sudden wealth, are more hard-hearted
than persons born to affluence. This may arise from a
reluctance to review painful or humiliating associations ;
or it may be that, with some chai'acters, poverty has a
hardening process, and, when lifted above it, they feel
a sort of pleasure in seeing others suffer as they have
done. This is a bad phase of human nature — but who
can say that it seldom presents itself in society.
Mrs. Nelson was one of these women. She would
not, knowingly, have perpetrated a crime, or done a
palpable injustice ; but her whole life was made up of
trivial vanity and intense selfishness. What little feel-
ing she possessed, had been sacrificed to a craving
desire for wealth, and she bent all her faculties to one
end, that of securing all its privileges and enjoyments to
herself.
It was not long before her husband became con-
vinced of this ; for real and deep passion rendered him
378 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
keen sighted. His character, naturally stern and silent,
grew bitter under this one thought ; but the fatal love
which had led him to lavish so much upon her, still
imprisoned his heart as the serpents of the laocoon coil
around their victims.
A few months of married life, and this was the con-
dition in which the Nelsons found themselves. He a
lonely, sullen slave — she reckless and egotistical, at
the best — sometimes insolent in her exactions, and
always ungrateful. But this did not impair her popu-
larity, or, in truth, meet public observation at all. To
the world she was every thing charming. But it is at
home we must seek this woman in order to judge her
aright in this new phase of her strange life.
It was Mrs. Nelson's caprice to breakfast alone in a
little room which opened to the sunniest nook of the
flower garden. In less than three weeks after her mar-
riage she began to separate her life from that of her
husband in every possible manner, and absolutely sold
the fragments of time which she doled out to him, bar-
tering them off unblushingly for some new extrava-
gance, until even his absorbing passion revolted at her
egotism.
The room that we speak of was really an exquisite
affair in its way ; very cheerful and sumptuous in all
its appointments. Lace curtains were looped back
from the deep windows, so heavy with embroidery that
they fell over the pure plate-glass like snow wreaths
floating over ice. Through this transparent cloud came
the cool rustle of tree boughs, the gleam of flowers,
and glimpses of warm sunshine, turning the grass to a
golden green. A broad mirror, surmounted by a wreath
of gilded foliage, reflected back this out-door picture
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 379
from its limpid surface. The carpet appeared but a con-
tinuation of the blossoming turf without ; you seemed
to trample upon a living flower at every step, and the
foot sank luxuriously into its rich pile, as if pressing
wood moss in a forest. The hangings upon the walls
were of pale green clustering with golden roses. Small
tables of oriental alabaster and delicate mosaic sup-
ported vases of flowers, which shed a delicate perfume
through the apartment. Two easy chairs of the most
elaborate construction, and a couch that yielded to
pressure like down, completed the rich assemblage.
Most regally did this apartment frame in the queenly
woman who formed a tableau of wonderful effect in its
centre. The rare tone of her beauty demanded delicate
tints, and these were in direct contrast with the colors
that predominated in the room. Morning dresses, as
they are now worn, were not then in vogue, but a Can-
ton crape dress, of a glowing red, fell across her bosom
in surplice folds, revealing glimpses of costly lace under-
neath ; the sleeves fitted her symmetrical arms to the
elbow, where they terminated in a fall of frost-like lace.
A gossamer cap seemed to have settled like a butterfly
on the lustrous tresses coiled around her proud head,
which she crushed ruthlessly against the back of her
chair, rather than change her idle position. She held a
newspaper in her hand, while her foot rested on the
ebony claw of a small table, on which the frosted silver
and delicate china of a breakfast service were arranged.
Mrs. Nelson was no reader, but she loved to drone
over the morning papers after breakfast, picking up
such fragments of gossip and news as floated through
their columns with satisfaction, so long as no effort of
thought was necessary. Thus her eyes roved restlessly
380 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
over the paper in her hand until the}' fell upon the head-
ing of a paragraph that sent the bloorn for a moment
from her cheeks. It was an account of Katharine
Allen's trial. She read it breathlessly from beginning
*- O O
to end. A cloud gathered on her fair forehead as she
proceeded, which grew dark and stormy when she ap-
proached the termination.
Jealousy is more likely to spring from self-love than
from pure affection. The pang which Mrs. Nelson felt
was not the less keen because she had no real regard
for the man whom she had married. Her arrogant
vanity had been pampered till its craving could not be
satisfied, and the idea that another would dare lift ad-
miring eyes to the man it had been her pleasure to
select, wounded her almost as if she had possessed a
heart. She remembered Katharine Allen as she had
appeared that night at her own humble home in the
pine woods, and a clear conviction fell upon her that
Nelson Thrasher was in some way implicated in the
trouble that had fallen upon the girl. Had he — her
slave, her spaniel, whom it was her right to caress or
spurn, dared to swerve from his allegiance to her, even
when she was the wife of another ?
The question filled her heart with bitter scorn. She
gloried over the fact that this girl would be degraded
and crushed out of respectable life for having presumed
to cross her path. She remembered the delicate beauty
which had been so remarkable that evening, and bit her
lips fiercely as the idea presented itself, that less adroit
management on her part might have placed Katharine
in the honorable possession of all she enjoyed so keenly.
What if he should relent, even then ? What if the
knowledge of this poor girl's terrible position should
THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 381
touch the heart she had herself trampled down so inso-
lently, while it was loading her with benefits !
She grasped the paper in her hand — no, no, he must
never hear the news it contained. She would . change
her course, and strive to endure his society. He had
grown sullen of late. What if his love for her should
change. The crowning passion of her character revolted
at this, but still a lurking fear crept in, and she re-
flected that the slavery of a strong heart would not last
forever.
She touched a curious little bell that stood on the
table, and a servant opened the door.
" Send me all the papers that have been brought this
morning !"
The man went away and returned with several of the
morning journals ; she glanced them over hurriedly,
pressing her lips hard, while each column was scanned.
That paragraph was only to be found in the paper
that lay crushed in her lap. She arose hurriedly, and
passing through the entrance hall, swept toward the
kitchen.
The cook stopped in the middle of the floor, struck
with astonishment by the presence of her haughty mis-
tress in that place. Mrs. Nelson walked toward the
range, and taking up a heavy poker, thrust the news-
paper into the fire, holding it down till the fragments
floated in black flakes over her hand. She laid the
poker down, observing that the woman was regarding
her curiously.
" Send in coffee, and some of those delicate French
rolls which Mr. Nelson is so fond of," she said, indiffer-
ently ; " with any other nice thing you can pick up."
382 LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST.
CHAPTER LYI.
LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST.
THE cook was full of regrets that madame had been
compelled to give her own orders, and, amid a woi'ld of
protestations, Mrs. Nelson went back to her room.
Soon after she rang the bell with emphasis, and di-
rectly that exquisite breakfast service was re-arranged
for two, and one of the silken easy chairs rolled oppo-
site her own.
" Go tell Mr. Nelson that I am waiting for him to
breakfast with me," she said, drawing close to the table,
and forcing the clouds from her face.
She waited impatiently till the man came back, tap-
ping the carpet with her restless foot. What if she had
gone too far ? If he ever could have thought of another
might it not be so again ? and she so completely in his
power, so helpless without his wealth.
The servant came back.
" Mr. Nelson's compliments, but he had taken break-
fast hours ago."
The woman absolutely turned pale. It was the first
time he had ever refused an advance of any kind from
her. She arose, stood in thought an instant, and then
left the room.
" Master is in his office, madame," said the servant.
"Yes, I know — he was not well this morning."
She swept through the hall again, and crossing two or
three rooms, entered one in the extreme southern wing
of the house. In this place, Nelson had, of late, taken
LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST. 383
his meals alone. It was simply an office upon the
ground floor, containing a few chairs, an oaken book-
case, heavy with carving, and a library table, which
stood in the centre of a small Persian carpet. There
was nothing very remarkable in this apartment, except
one thing. The floor was paved like the entrance hall,
with a rich mosaic pattern of variously tinted marble.
Mrs. Nelson felt a chill from the stones through her
thin slippers, and exclaimed :
" Dear me, Nelson, what a dreary place you have !
All wood work and stone. I never observed how very
comfortless it was before."
Nelson was locking something in a drawer of his
writing-table, and his face was bent, but she saw the
blood rush to his forehead.
" I do not find it disagreeable," he said, gravely.
"Ah, but my room is so much pleasanter," she said,
approaching the table, and laying a hand caressingly on
his arm.
He rose up suddenly, shaking her hand away.
The color mounted to her temples, but she controlled
the temper that burned within her.
" You are out of sorts, dear husband ; and I am lone
some. Come away from this cold room."
" It is not colder than usual," he answered, curtly;
but a thrill ran through his frame and the blood tingled
in his veins. She had never called him by that endear-
ing name but once before, not even in the first days of
their marriage.
Her hand had fallen lightly on his wrist — she felt the
leap of the pulse, and smiled with inward triumph.
" Come, come. I am getting angry. How could you
neglect me so ? Busy, busy, all the time ; about what ?
364: LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST.
and I left alone ! Come — this morning I will take no
refusal 1 You shall breakfast with me !"
Nelson took her hand, grasping it hard, and looked
steadily in her face.
" Ellen, what is the meaning of this ?"
" It means that I want to see my husband now and
then, or he will forget how much I love him."
Nelson shook his head. This sweet flattery was too
sudden. It lacked the ring of truth, and he felt it.
He looked at her sternly.
" Ellen I"
" Well, what is it ?"
" What do you desire in exchange for these minutes
of deception?"
" Nelson !"
" It is a simple question. If you have any wish nn-
gratified, speak. This cajolery is not necessary."
"You are cruel, Nelson."
He saw the tears mount slowly to her eyes ; the hand
which touched his, trembled.
"You have ceased to love me, Nelson ?"
She asked this question breathlessly ; all the splendor
of her position seemed fading away. Her lips grew
white, and she leaned heavily on the table. Ambition
spoke loudly as her heart should have done.
Her evident grief made his pulses leap. The white
lips — the trembling of those limbs. The emotion thus
betrayed must be genuine. He stood irresolute, looking
at her. The thick lashes drooped over her eyes, her
bosom began to heave.
" Ellen, is this real ?"
She lifted those velvety eyes to his, and the man was
her slave again
LOVE'S GOLDEN HARVEST. 385
Three weeks from this day, two important things
were concluded. A deed of gift, conveying the mansion
house, was made out in favor of Ellen Nelson, and a
large amount of foreign gold was deposited in one of
the leading city banks, subject to her order. Those few
sweet words had brought her a golden harvest; but
what was that compared to the vast wealth which still
remained in her husband's power ? wealth that could not
be brought out in the face of the world, though she had
never been permitted to know its hiding-place. While
her husband held this great secret back from her knowl-
edge she could not feel altogether secure, for what was
moderate wealth to a woman who had dreamed so long
of millions ?
In the depth of his heart, Nelson may have felt that his
secret was the strongest tie that bound him to his wife.
If so, it was one of those cruel thoughts that men put
away from their souls only to feel them creeping back
again like serpents. One thing is certain, he clung to
the secret of his gold with stern tenacity, and watched
all her stealthy movements toward it with the vigilance
of a hound. The golden chains with which his wife was
bound became more important to him every day. While
he lived, that should fetter her to his side if love could
not. When he died — a shudder ran through his soul as
he thought of that. Was he certain that retribution
would wait for him till then ?
24
386 ONE HOUR OF SHAME.
CHAPTER LYII.
ONE HOUR OP SHAME.
A VESSEL was being hauled in at the Long Wharf, at
New Haven — a weather-beaten vessel — that gave evi-
dence of a long voyage over the seas. Two men leaped
from the deck, as she was slowly warped to her moor-
ings, and stood together a few moments at the head of
the wharf. They were both fine looking men, but in a
different way. The one had a frank, honest countenance,
that expressed great natural vigor of mind, joined with
a physical organization of uncommon strength. The
other was lighter, taller, and more decidedly intellectual
every way. Indeed, a face like that was not met with
on the same thoroughfare once in a twelvemonth.
This man seemed eager to be moving ; he held a small
portmanteau in his hands, while a few hurried words
passed between him and his companion.
" Then you wont go into the town with me and give
us both a fair start ?" said the stouter of the two. " The
stage starts from Buck's Tavern at daylight."
" No, no ; I could not sleep, I could not rest within
ten miles of home. Think how long I have been away
— of all that has happened."
" But we are four hours too late for the morning
stage, captain."
" I know ; but what then ? It is but an easy walk
after all. I can be there before noon."
Rice laughed, and slily winked one eyelid.
" All right," he said ; "this comes of being a married
ONE HOUR OF SHAME. 387
man ; a ten miles' tramp, with a heart fluttering like a
partridge all the way. Well, we old bachelors have
nothing to hurry for, and can afford to take it comforta-
bly. I'll go down to Bucks, and be at the old woman's
to supper. But keep dark ; I want to come down upon
her and Kate all of a sudden, to say nothing of that
little shaver and cuff — so keep a close lip, captain."
The captain gave a happy laugh, thinking that he
would be too pleasantly employed for any chance at
gossip, so he promised silence very cordially, and the
two shook hands.
" Good luck to you," exclaimed Rice, with hearty-
good will, "I'll be after you in short order."
They parted here. The man with the portmanteau
walking with rapid strides toward the highway which
led to the country, and our sailor friend taking a more
leisurely course into the town.
He was so busy with thoughts of home at first that a
certain bustle and excitement among the people upon
the sidewalks failed to arrest his attention. But as he
approached the heart of the city this unusual bustle
aroused him. The people all seemed to be going one
wa}^, men hurried along in eager haste, women jostled
against each other in their reckless movements, some
dragging little children after them, and scolding their
slow progress.
Rice followed the current. He, too, became anxious
to see what was taking a whole population so com-
pletely in one direction, and having plenty of time,
sauntered on, with the easy roll learned in his home on
the rolling deep. He asked no questions, indeed he
felt very little interest in the matter. Something was
going on — it might be a political meeting, or " a gen-
388 ONE HOUR OF RHAME.
eral training," it made very little difference to him
which it should prove. There seemed to be a crowd
assembling somewhere, and that was all he cared about
the matter.
At last the throng of people grew so thick around
one of these green enclosures, common to the City of
Elms, that Rice made his way onward with some diffi-
culty. He paused to take an observation, saw the
great square crowded full of people that murmured and
swayed to and fro, when new crowds poured in from
the streets, as he had seen the ocean in many a danger-
ous storm.
The general excitement fully aroused him now, and
he looked keenly around while elbowing his way through
the human masses, asking the crowd in general, and no
one in particular, what the noise was about.
No one answered him. All were eagerly searching
for commodious standing room, and his questions re-
mained unheeded. At last he saw, looming up in the
centre of the public green, a mass of timber, great,
heavy oaken posts, and a cross-beam rising above a scaf-
fold, upon which a mass of white, that possibly shrouded
a human figure, was lifted above the crowd.
Rice paused, with a sudden exclamation.
" What is that ?" he said, turning to a female, who
elbowed him fiercely with one arm, lifting up her child
with the other.
" What is it ? Can't you see ? Look for yourself.
What should it be but a gallows, and a woman on it ?"
cried the mother, lifting the little, golden-haired girl on
her shoulder, that she might command a view of the
show.
"A gallows, and a woman on it !" exclaimed Rice,
ONE HOUR OF SHAME. 389
losing half of his ruddy color. " Oh, my good woman,
what has the poor thing done ?"
"Done! why, where did you come from? Done
enough to hang her as high as Haman, where she ought
to be swinging this minute. Done, indeed I"
With these words the woman thrust herself forward,
marking her rude progress by the frightened face of the
child, which rose and fell in that ocean of human heads
like some flower tossed upward by a storm.
A strange feeling seized upon Rice — a desperate wish
to struggle through the crowd, and flee from the spot.
He turned and pressed blindty against the human masses
that heaved around him. But, in spite of his great
strength, they bore him onward like the waters of a vor-
tex, till he was flung, against his own will, almost at the
foot of the gallows.
Yes ; a woman was shrouded in that white drapery —
a fair young girl, so fair and so young that the sailor's
heart melted with pity at the first glance. How still
and white she was. How like some of the Madonnas he
had seen in the churches and cathedrals of foreign parts ;
those hands were folded under the cloud-Jike sleeves.
She was very slender and frail. Rice could trace the
blue veins on her temples, and see the quiver of her
hands under the white drapery. A hideous thing was
coiled, like a great ash-colored serpent, around that deli-
cate neck, and fell writhing along the scaffold.
Rice uttered a cry of horror ; something in that face
smote all the strength from his heart. The sight of that
rope made him tremble like a little child. The meek
eyelids drooping over the shrinking agony of those
eyes, the mouth parting now and then from its tremu-
lous pressure, the small feet resting so helplessly on the,
scaffold. It was a pitiful sight.
890 THE MOTHER AND SON.
I cannot explain why that craving desire to know
who the criminal was, seized upon the strong man,
whose face the unhappy creature would not have known
had she lifted those heavy eyes ? " Who is it ? why is
she here ? will no one tell me ?"
An old woman, or the shadow of an old woman, who
leaned against the timbers of the gallows, looked up at
this outcry, and her eyes settled on his face. Then her
poor withered hands were slowly lifted, and fell help-
lessly into his.
"My son!"
" Mother — my mother, and looking so !"
" Hush 1" she said, lifting her trembling finger, and
pointing to the girl on the scaffold. " It is our Katharine."
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE MOTHER AND SON.
RICE did not speak — he did not move — a weight of
blood fell back on his heart, turning it to stone. He
felt like a drowning man, with the billows of a turbu-
lent ocean heaving around him.
The old woman left her support against the timbers
of the gallows, and rested against him. Unconsciously
he circled her with one arm. She looked up in his face,
and the slow relief of tears gathered in her eyes.
All this had passed very quietly. ISTo one saw it, for
but few had heeded the old woman who crept silently
after the cortege when it left the jail. As the sheriff
THE MOTHER AND SON. 391
led his charge up to the scaffold, a stifled moan had
made him pause, and he saw a thin hand steal forth
from the crowd and touch that of the prisoner, without
seeming to heed the act ; for he was a kind man, and
guessed who the woman was. Then the strong, brave
son came up, and the old woman recognized him with
sorrowful gladness ; but the crowd was eager for the
spectacle of human shame, and cared nothing for that.
Oh, how differently the half brother looked on that
scaffold now ! He saw the delicate form drooping in
the presence of a great multitude. The sunlight fell
around her with a soft, mocking radiance. Not even a
cloud crept mercifully into the heavens to vail her with
shadows. Her eyes were bent on the rough, unjoined
boards beneath her feet. The tumult of popular curios-
ity rose and swelled around her, but she never moved
or looked up. Coarse words and harsh revilings passed
by her, but save a quiver of the eyelids, you would not
have known that she heard them.
As she sat thus meek and still while the minutes of
her punishment dropped into eternity, carrying her
shame with them, the great multitude around her grew
turbulent. After all, what was it to walk so far and
stay so long only to see a young girl sitting upon a
platform of boards, without giving a sign or lifting her
eyes ? They had come to see a murderess — something
wild and exciting — a scene to frighten their children
with in after times, and talk over with the neighbors
when subjects of gossip ran low. Why did not the
sheriff make her stand up and confess her crime before
them all ? That would be something to satisfy the law !
As the hour wore on these expressions of discontent
grew strong. Men shouted for her to stand up, while
392 THE MOTHER AND SON.
the mocking voices of disappointed females scoffed at
her with unwomanly fierceness.
All feelings are contagious when humanity crowds
itself into masses. Lashed by these jibes the people
grew coarse and cruel — the meek silence of the prisoner
seemed like obstinacy to them. Her drooping face,
half hidden from their eager glances, had no right to
evade them thus.
These murmurs of discontent grew turbulent and
surged through the crowd like the dashing of spent
waves upon a rocky bank — a sea of human faces waved
to and fro, white and terrified with conflicting emotions.
In all that throng there was, perhaps, not one counte-
nance which expressed indifference ; a great painter might
have made his name immortal could he have pictured
that dense multitude as it really appeared. Men and
women looked cruel and hard, as if they longed to drag
the miserable young creature down from her place of
shame with their own hands and put her to death.
Here and there a visage appeared which seemed to
express something akin to pity ; but the most tender-
hearted would hardly have ventured, amid that excited
populace, to have expressed a word of sympathy.
In the midst of this tumult Rice heard a voice close
to his elbow, which hissed in his ear like a serpent. A
rough looking man stood by him with a face full of
cruel mockery uplifted to the gallows. He stooped
down and spoke to a lad who stood near :
" Go and give the halter a jerk, my little fellow, and
I'll pay ye a ninepence the minute it's done. If you pull
her off so much the better ; I'll make the ninepence a
shilling !"
These were the words which made Rice start, and
THE MOTHER AND SON. 893
look fiercely around. He saw the boy, an evil-visaged
imp, skulking away toward the gallows. Looking Lack
over his shoulder, with a sly, cunning smile.
" Mother, stand alone one minute," he said, in a
hoarse whisper.
The old woman could not stand without support, but
she fell back against the gallows timbers, looking
wildly in his face. He waited for nothing, but sprang
into the crowd with the bound of a panther, grappled
the lad by the throat, just as his hand touched an end
of the rope which had fallen over the scaffold. With
the strength of a giant he lifted the boy high in the air
with both hands, and pitched him far over the heads of
the multitude. Here the urchin fluttered and turned,
like some uncouth bird, till he was engulfed by the
crowd, amid shouts of laughter and wild exclamations
of astonishment.
Pale and trembling with rage, Rice turned upon the
man who had instigated this dastardly act, but the
craven took prompt warning, and plunged into the
crowd, which, closing upon him, left Rice with his hand
clenched and specks of foam trembling on his lips. A
hand was laid heavily on his shoulder. Thinking it
was some constable ready to arrest him, Rice turned,
but only to meet a mild and elderly face, whose placid
eyes looked gently into his. It was old Mr. Thrasher.
" Stop, stop, my friend. Let the laws be fulfilled
without tumult. God may be doing a great work here."
"But what is man now doing, I should like to
know?" cried the angry sailor. "Can your God look
down on such work as this and not hate the people He
has made ? Look at this girl 1 look, at the old woman
yonder ! My mother and my sister !"
394: THE MOTHER AND SON.
" Your mother — sister ! Then you are David Rice ?"
"Yes, I am Dave Rice, that old woman's son. I
hadn't seen her for nigh upon eight years, and this is
how I find her 1" cried Dave, shaking all over with a
burst of grief ; "and that's how I find my half sister, the
sweetest little child that man ever sat eyes on."
Great tears trembled in his eyes and dropped down
his cheeks, he wiped them away with the cuff of his
sailor's jacket, dashing his hand down in a passion of
self-contempt.
" What has the girl done ? What does this all mean ?
If you know, tell me — do tell me I"
" Be calm — be still !" aswered Thrasher, in a voice
that carried soothing in its very tones. " She is inno-
cent as a lamb."
" Innocent, and there ?"
" Yes, I say it again, in spite of her trial — in spite
of her sentence, just now commenced. Your sister is
innocent of the murder."
" The murder ! God help us !"
" The murder of her child 1"
" Her child I My little sister's child !"
" Wait — wait till you see her. She has bound me by
a promise, but you are her brother, and have rights. I
am glad you have come. With your knowledge of sea-
life he may be found. My son, Nelson Thrasher, I
mean."
" Nelson Thrasher ! And what has he to do with her
and this ?"
"Nothing with this. It would distress him as it
does us, but he is away — knows nothing about it, and
she But, hush ! the time is up. The sheriff tells
her to come down."
THE MOTHER AND SON. 395
The two men moved closer to the scaffold. At the
voice of the sheriff Katharine lifted her head slowly,
and cast a frightened look at the crowd, which became
more and more riotous as the hour closed. For the
first time that day a -faint flush stole to her forehead,
and her eyes quailed with affright from all the eager
faces uplifted toward her. The sheriff spoke again
before she attempted to arise. Then a voice followed
his, saying:
" Take courage, Katharine, we are here 1"
She knew the voice well, arose, unsteadily, to her feet,
and staggered, in a blind way, across the scaffold, with
her arms held out. The changeable mob began to pity
her then, for the sight of her face might have moved the
very stones to compassion. More kindly murmurs
reached her ; you could see it by the quiver of her fea-
tures and the pathetic helplessness with which she looked
toward the spot whence the voices came.
David Rice could bear the scene no longer ; he rushed
by the sheriff, sprang upon the scaffold, and took the
unhappy girl in his arms, crying out :
" Katy, Katy ! God forgive them, for they are killing
you! My sister, my little sister!"
She may have heard his voice, and the name by which
he called her ; if so, it smote the remaining strength
from her frame, for she fell away in his arms, limp and
dead, like a lily broken at the stalk.
The sheriff would have taken her from those strong
arms, but Rice waved him back.
"Don't be afeared, don't be afeared," he said, hoarse
with grief; " I shan't run away with the poor lamb ; but
she's dead, and no one but her brother shall touch her.
Keep as close as you like. Show me the way to her
396 THE MOTHER AND SON,
prison. I aint a going to break any law ; but she's my
sister, and that poor old soul there is my mother. Help
her along, if you've got a heart, and leave this poor
lamb to me. "
The sheriff had no heart to separate the prisoner from
her newly-found brother ; he would even have aided old
Mrs. Allen, as Rice had desired, but Mr. Thrasher and
his good wife were by her side, supporting her with such
kindly help that any offers of assistance would have
been intrusive. Thus surrounded by constables, the
little group gathered in a close knot, carrying Katharine
Allen from her place of shame.
The crowd fell back reverently before Rice, who fol-
lowed the sheriff with the tread of a lion, while that
white face rested on his shoulder. This last anguish
had left her like a corpse before the crowd had changed
All its impatient revilings into compassion. The chil-
dren looked frightened or began to cry when they saw
terror or tears upon their mother's cheeks. The men
grew pale, and looked at each other upbraidingly, as the
Jews must have done when the great sacrifice was urged
forward by their hands.
Thus the little group passed away from the crowd and
into the dark shadows of a prison, which seemed like
heaven to this poor girl when she came to life, with the
remembrance of all those glaring eyes and scowling
faces turning their hate upon her.
THE EMPTY HOUSE. 397
CHAPTER LIX.
THE EMPTY HOUSE.
WHEN David Rice left the jail that night, ne had the
certificate of his sister's marriage in his bosom, and
under it was a stern resolve to find out the man who had
left her to the chance of all this suffering, and bring him
to a stern account.
There was no need of his going further now ; all the
bright hopes of the morning were swept away. The
broken household around that prison was all he could
find of his old home. But the gloom of this place was
too oppressive ; fresh from the broad sweep of the ocean,
he could not breathe in all this close misery.
The next day, Rice escaped from the contemplation
of all this ruin, and took a long walk into the country,
bending his way toward Hotchkistown. The rapid ex-
ercise cooled the fever of his blood, while it deepened
the profound compassion excited by his sister's wrongs.
As he was passing under the shadows of the East Rock,
a traveller, coming from an opposite direction, appeared
in the distance. Rice instantly knew the little valise
and the upright figure of the man. It was the companion
from whom he had parted only the day before. But why
had he returned so soon ? What was the meaning of
that quick, almost fierce, walk ?
The two men drew close to each other, and, pre-occu-
pied as they were, stopped abruptly in mutual surprise,
each astonished by the change that had come upon the
other.
398 THE EMPTY HOUSE.
" Rice, my poor friend !"
" Captain, what is the matter ? I know that you have
heard ; but my troubles can't have done this."
The stranger wrung the hand which Rice held out,
but he did not speak — the encounter had come upon him
suddenly.
" You found all well at home, I hope," said Rice.
" Don't tell me that any thing has gone wrong there, I
couldn't stand it."
The stranger wrung his friend's hand again. " Rice,
I found the house empty."
" Empty ! What, moved ?»
" Gone, both of them ; God only knows where."
" Gone !"
" No one can tell me where. The house was shut up.
The grass had grown high around the gate. The bucket
from long disuse had dropped to pieces on the well-pole.
This is all that I can gather of a certainty."
" And did the neighbors know nothing ?"
" They told me a great deal, but it led to nothing ; my
wife really gave no one an idea of what she intended to do.
I see how it is ; she was very proud, and thinking herself
compelled to work for a living went off into some
strange place. ' It was like her, but where can I go, how
search her out ? She left no trace. ' Surely she might
have waited a few months longer !"
The proud anguish in his friend's voice drew Rice
from his own troubles.
" Come," he said, " I will turn back, and we will talk
this over. Some way will be found. ' Never give up
the ship.' That has been our motto for many a day,
captain. The storm has burst on me, and it may reach
you, but we'll sail in the same boat anyhow."
THE EMPTY HOUSE. 399
" But this suspense is terrible, Rice. Does it seem
possible that a man should be made so wretched in a
single day ? But for this hard walk I should have gone
crazy."
" I know what it is, captain ; all my timbers are shak-
ing now with what happened yesterday, but I've seen
many a wreck come up shipshape again. Let's keep
afore the breeze, if it does blow a gale. I feel sartin
that our course lies the same way, somehow. Here, give
us hold of j'our valise. You look clean tuckered out."
The man surrendered his valise with a faint smile,
saying :
" I only intended to go on a little till the stage
overtook me, but forgot all about it, or that I was walk-
ing fast, till ten minutes' rest convinced me how tired
I was." That moment the heavy stage-coach came
swinging round a corner of the turnpike, its four horses
galloping forward in a cloud of dust, through which a
bright, boyish face was seen leaning out of the window.
" Hallo, there, I say, you driver, let me out — hurry —
can't you hear a fellow ? What are you thinking on ?"
The driver heard this energetic shout above the tramp
of his horses, and drew up, covering the travellers by
the wa}'-side with a storm of dust.
The lad opened the heavy stage door for himself and
sprang out, telling the driver, with a magnificent nour-
ish of the hand, that he could treat himself with the
extra fare, paid in advance, from Hotchkistown to New
Haven. Then he began advising two old ladies in the
back seat to take a little more room and make them-
selves comfortable, a piece of consideration that was
cut short by a sharp crash of the door, and a lurch of
the stage, which set the establishment in motion again.
400 TOM HUTCH INS' LETTER.
Left alone in the street our friend Tom took a rapid
survey of the two men, and advanced toward them,
lifting his new straw hat, which sported a red ribbon
around the crown, after a fashion which he had admired
greatly in little Paul, and regarding this a proper occa-
sion, practiced with considerable effect. He glanced at
Rice with a rather dissatisfied air, and partly turned
his back on him while addressing the other person.
" I reckoned I should find you somewhere on the
road, captain, and so cut after," he said, turning his
back decidedly on Rice. "Expected to find you all
alone, though."
" This person is my friend."
"Yes, sir, but he isn't mine, so if you'd just as lief
step round back of that juniper bush, mebby I'll tell
you something."
The person addressed as captain accepted this invi-
tation, and walked to the other side of a juniper tree,
which stood close by, heavy with clusters of blue ber-
ries. Tom followed the stranger with one hand thrust
into his trowser's pocket, from which came a faint rustle
of paper.
CHAPTER LX.
TOM HUTCHINS' LETTER.
" WHEN you was at our house, talking to par, I heard
purty much all that was said, and should a heard it all
if it hadn't been for the squalling of the young uns.
Now he didn't know a circumstance to what I did. Just
TOM HUT CHINS' LETTER. 401
driving a person down to a sloop don't amount to noth-
ing, if you can't tell where she was a going."
" True enough, my young friend ; but what more can
you tell me ?"
" Well now, if you'll promise not to laugh or poke
fun at me, I'll up and tell."
" Well, I promise that."
"And you wont be mad, nor nothing ?"
"I think not."
"And — and — " Here Tom grew red as a winter apple,
and stammered most unmerciful.
" Well, and what ? I dare say you can ask nothing
which I will not promise."
"Well, you wont set yourself agin me and Hose
when we've grown up, and — and — "
The stranger started, and his countenance changed.
"What can you know of my — of Rose?" he said,
sharply.
" Oh, now you're getting mad !"
" No, no ; but you tell me nothing."
Tom withdrew his hand and buttoned up the pocket
with emphasis.
" Besides that, I aint a going to. How far is it back
to Bungy ? I can foot it there afore dark, and no harm
done."
" But you had something to tell me."
" Yes, sir. Come all this way a purpose to tell it.
"Now I'm going back agin — no damage to nobody."
The captain grew pale with anxiety.
" Tell me what you desire, and speak out," he said.
" Well, I don't desire nothing of nobody. Ask our
doctor if I'm that sort of chap ; but you come to our
house and asked questions about a lady that I know, in
25
402 TO'M HUTCH INS' LETTER.
a sort of mealy-mouthed way, as if you didn't like to
speak out and say to old neighbors, ' She's gone off and
I don't know where.' Par didn't know, and consequent-
ly couldn't tell. I kinder did ; but with the old folks
by, and the baby squalling, what could a feller do ?"
" Where — where are they?"
" Now there's the question. I want to make a bargain
with you."
"Boy, boy, this is too much."
Tom Hutchins looked at him earnestly.
"I'll trust you!" he exclaimed, unbuttoning his
pocket in breathless haste, and drawing forth a tiny
letter, folded after the peculiar fashion that school-girls
affect. " Perhaps you know that ere writing — scrump-
tious fine hand, aint it ? Jest look on the outside — Mr.
Thomas Hutchins — don't it look splendid ?"
As Tom uttered these words, he unfolded the dainty
little epistle, and held it forth.
The captain's hand shook as he received the paper,
and a mist came over his eyes before it was read through.
"Mr. Thomas Hutchins:
" DEAR FRIEND : — I take up my pen to inform you
that I am in good health, and hope you are enjoying the
same blessing. I have got a nice gentleman and lady
to live with, and am learning French like any thing.
There is a colored man called Jube, and a young gen-
tleman named Paul. They know French, and help me
to speak it. I have got your robins' eggs yet, and mean
to keep them all my life. Please do not let any one see
this letter. I promised you to write the minute we got
anywhere ; but it was a long time before I knew how
people sent letters ; besides, I didn't know how to write
TOM nUTCHINS' LETTER. 403
fine hand then. Direct your letter to Miss Rose Mason,
Bays Hollow. It will reach me ; for since mother went
away, there isn't any Miss Mason but me."
There seemed to be some trouble about ending the
letter, for two attempts at erasure with a penknife were
visible ; but it finally concluded with the girlish signa-
ture of
" Your loving friend,
"KosE MASON."
The captain read this letter over and over again, till
the tears rose to his eyes and his chest began to heave.
"Will you give me this letter, boy ?" he said, in a
broken voice.
" Couldn't," said Tom. " Money hasn't got power to
buy it. You'd think so if you only knew how much
time it took for me to write the answer."
"And you think Rose is in this place now?"
" Think ! Don't I know it. Haven't I reckoned up
how much it would cost to get there fifty times ! Only
to think of hearing her talk French ! My 1"
The captain reached forth his hand, and shook that
of Tom, with deep emotion.
"What can I do for you, my boy?" he said.
" Nothing ; only if you go to the Hollow, don't forget
to give my best respects to Miss Rose Mason, and tell
her — no, you needn't say nothing about it — what's the
use ?"
• " I will tell her that you are a brave, generous boy,
and that I am eternally indebted to you," said the cap-
tain.
"That's very kind of you captin; but if you could
only say man — now a generous man — I should be much
UNSATISFIED VANITY.
obliged. You haven't no idea how much too short my
winter trowsers are !"
" I will say any thing to prove how happy you have
made me. The dear child — and this is her writing ?"
answered the captain, reading the letter a third time.
Tom watched him keenly, till the blood mounted into
his fine face. Some great struggle was going on in his
heart, that at last burst forth in words.
"Take it," he said; "keep the letter. I give it up;
but when you see her remember that it bust my heart
to do it. Good-by, captain. Some time or another I
shall want something of you, but wait till I've stopped
growing. There's all the world afore us. Good-by."
The captain called after him. Tom refused to look
back, but marched off at a quick pace, waving his
hand. The truth is, our youngster's face was bathed
in tears. It really had almost broken his heart to give
up the letter — the first and dearest epistle of his life.
CHAPTER LXI.
UNSATISFIED VANITY.
MR. NELSON had placed a Nemesis in his household,
and she gave him full measure of retribution. The few
days of sunshine which he had purchased, soon faded
away; and he was left to wander to and fro in that
splendid house, more desolate than the pauper whom
his wife sent haughtily from his door.
Step by step, the woman for whom he had sacrificed
UNSATISFIED VANITY. 405
every thing, became a very tyrant in his house. Indiffer-
ent at first, then arrogant, and at last insufferably inso-
lent, she scarcely gave him breathing room in his own
home. The very tread of his foot in the vestibule filled
her with a sort of resentment, as if he had no right, in
any degree, to disturb the luxury of her existence.
Nothing but her insatiable vanity won for him even a
gleam of favor. That was the strong passion of her
nature, and in its complete gratification she sometimes
condescended to endure his presence with some show of
cheerfulness.
True, Mrs. Nelson was now comparatively indepen-
dent. A few short weeks of coquetry — for that is really
the name by which her attempts at affection should be
given — had won this much from her infatuated victim ;
but it often happens that a woman who scatters her
husband's money with recklessness, proves parsimonious
where her own is concerned. This was the case with
Mrs. Nelson ; she had no fancy for diminishing her own
resources ; on the contrary, she had, without consulting
Nelson, placed them in a way to command more than
the usual interest, at the inevitable result of more than
ordinary risk.
Thus the demands of unlimited extravagance made it
important that something like marital cordiality should
be maintained with her husband, and from this neces-
sity, gleams of coquettish affection would sometimes
break upon his loneliness, which she foolishly believed
would always prove sufficient to keep him at her feet.
It is generally the dregs of poor wine that become sour.
That love can turn to hate, no one who ever felt the
true passion will believe. But there are mixed feelings
that combine with affection in evil natures, like foreign
406 UNSATISFIED VANITY.
ingredients in the wine, and these yield to circumstan-
ces as that does to the atmosphere, turning to indiffer-
ence,-contempt, or hate, as the case may be.
This change was going on with Nelson. His wife
did not see it, for, with a good deal of cleverness, she
had not the intellect to comprehend a character like his,
Her reign over him had been so complete — he had re-
ceived her slightest favors with such gratitude — that
any idea of revolt never entered her mind. A few bland-
ishments had always obtained power over him to any
extent, and these she had always at command.
But she too was setting up a Nemesis in the house-
hold, not the less powerful that it was slow to come.
This woman's life had become one wild commotion —
nothing contented her. The desire of one day was
flung off by the caprice of the next. The house was
one thoroughfare of fashion. Her position once ac-
knowledged in that world which every one talks of, but
which, in a republic like ours, is never permanently
denned — her hold upon it became complete ; but it was
maintained at great cost ; morning breakfasts, evening
parties, and those exquisite little suppers which are the
gems of a sumptuous establishment, came and went in
endless succession. Her life was a triumph of vanity — •
her ambition fulfilled. She had no character for higher
aspirations, and only aimed at something new, some-
thing that would sweep all social competition aside.
This was altogether opposed to Nelson's ideas of
domestic life. His ambition was of a sterner nature.
He wanted power abroad, and domestic love at home.
But the woman he had chosen overshadowed him with
her dashing frivolity — put him aside with her insolent
pretension. His strong nature revolted at last. Month
UNSATISFIED VANITY. 407
after month he had walked through her magnificent
festivities like a stranger, scarcely recognized by her
guests, or approached by herself, unless the great need
of money brought her smiling to his presence, and all
this time one fact was brooding in his mind — for all his
love the woman had given him nothing.
These thoughts hardened the rich man against the
woman he had almost adored. He grew sombre and
stern as a rock. No one ever saw him smile, or if he
did, the gleam of a serpent stole into his eyes, reveal-
ing the venom within. This state of things might have
gone on for months, perhaps years, but for a new source
of excitement which the lady had searched out for
herself. Hitherto the expense and ostentation of her
life had been its chief objection. But display requires
great genius in its arrangement not to become mono-
tonous, and of all things on earth the routine of a
merely fashionable life is the least interesting. Mrs.
Nelson began to feel this. Even the triumphs of her
vanity grew sickly ; she wanted new fields for display.
This feeling led her to the very verge of a precipice.
There was one corner in Nelson's heart in which a
sleeping serpent lay coiled, which even she must not
dare to arouse. But with her usual audacity she
trampled even there.
In New York there is always a floating population of
foreigners whose business it is to be amused, and who
have, with the aid of liberal travel abroad, introduced
many customs into our republican society which a New
Englauder of any class is not quite prepared to accept.
Now Mrs. Nelson began to weary of her fashionable
dissipation — the attentions of those very men made one
of the chief attractions of her life. They were invited
408 UNSATISFIED VANITY.
to her house ; she received with pleasure their exagger-
ated flatteries, and gradually her whole mode of thought
became so changed that the woman was scarcely to be
recognized.
What Nelson suffered at first is beyond the power of
description ; although it wounded his pride terribly, he
gave these troubles no utterance, and had scarcely ex-
pressed a word of disapproval, but his brow grew heavy
with frowns and an iron pressure of the mouth became
habitual. lie never sought his wife's presence now, and
even passed her, if they chanced to meet, with lowering
avoidance.
With this new caprice Mrs. Nelson's extravagance had
somewhat abated, and having no special favors to ask,
she treated her husband's frowns with the utmost dis-
dain, if for a moment they excited her attention. He
took no pains to enforce his displeasure upon her, but
with stolid firmness went on his way.
During her married life this woman had made many
efforts to find out the sources of her husband's wealth, but
except that all her expenditures were supplied in foreign
gold, she could form no real idea of his resources. But
this fact convinced her that he must have made vast in-
vestments abroad, and the strongest desire she had left
was to ascertain the exact position and amount of these
investments, which, in the end, must, she was certain,
become her own, either by depletion or bequest.
But for the fixed conviction of his wife's indifference,
the art of this woman would, in the end, have gained
the information she craved ; but Nelson felt that in this
secret lay his entire hold on her. In fact he dared not
trust her or divide the corroding anxieties of his exist-
ence with any human being.
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS. 40J
At length, in the pauses of a foreign flirtation, for with
her these things never approached a point beyond that
of gratified vanity, she began to reflect on the persistent
silence of her husband, and viewing him as the source
of all her luxuries, became vaguely uneasy, as she had
clone once before, lest he should escape her control.
One evening, when it chanced that she had no visitors,
this doubt came across her, and under its influence she
went in search of her husband.
CHAPTER LXII.
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS.
TIIRASHER was sitting alone in the room we have
spoken of, reading or appearing to read, a large book
that lay open on the library table. The rustle of a
purple brocaded dress as it swept over the tessellated
floor, disturbed him. He raised his head and looked
steadily in his wife's face as she approached, but without
a sign either of gladness or anger.
" Always alone," she said, playfully leaning over his
shoulder — " always studying and leaving his poor wife
to her solitude."
He looked at her keenly, turning his head with 'a
gesture of avoidance, but still reading her with his eyes.
" What do you want now, in idame ?"
She absolutely turned pale to the lips. There was
no anger in his tone, but it cut through her flippancy
like a sworcl.
410 ARTFUL FASCINATIONS.
'" What do I want, Nelson ?" she faltered.
" Yes, how much ?"
The tones were sharp with sarcasm ; she winced under
them, and slowly removed her arm from his shoulder.
The massive bracelets she wore jingled faintly with
the motion. Nelson glanced at them with a , bitter
sneer.
" Those things were not among the jewels I gave you."
She flushed to the temples.
" No," she said, with some truth ; " you always seemed
anxious and troubled, so "
" So you accepted these from some one else ?"
" No, I bought them. Who would give me any thing
that I cannot purchase for myself? The jeweller im-
ported them expressly to tempt me."
She resumed all her confidence now. This allusion to
the jewels soothed her into the idea that it was only a
spasm of jealousy which had influenced his words. She
leaned her white arm on his shoulder again, and touched
his cheek with her own, glancing down on the book he
had been reading.
He closed the volume suddenly, and leaned his arm
upon it.
"And you wont let me read ?"
"No."
" Want me out of the way, perhaps ?"
" Yes !"
The woman rose to her full height, and in her haughty
anger would have swept from the room, but on second
thought she drew a chair, and sat down opposite him,
leaning her arm on the table.
"Nelson," she said, in her clear, rich voice, which,
spite of herself, shook with suppressed passion, "}'ou
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS. 411
are angry because I have had so little time to give you
of late."
He looked her steadily in the face.
" No, Ellen, I am not angry at any thing."
" Then why are you so stern with me ?"
"Because I am myself again."
The woman was really frightened ; the impolicy of her
late conduct forced itself upon her ; for a moment she
sat biting her lips in silence.
"You had better go to your room," he said, quietly;
"the marble floor is cold."
" Not half as cold as your heart," she answered, with
a burst of tears. "Ah, Nelson, how can you treat me
so cruelly ? Me, who — who "
"Who love me so dearly," he said, with one of the
most cutting sneers that ever disfigured a man's coun-
tenance.
These were the very words she had been trying to
utter, but they lodged in her throat. He had anticipated
the falsehood with a sneer. She arose haughtily. Tears
rolled down her flushed cheeks. She was really a beau-
tiful woman ; but her loveliness had no effect on him
then. In her reckless vanity she had wounded him al-
most beyond repair, and his bosom serpent crested itself
fiercely.
" I did not expect this," she said, in pale anger. " You
shall never have a chance to insult me again."
" I did not seek it now. It is not my wish that you
should ever come here "
"Why, what great secret do you keep in this room ?"
she said, speaking at random, in her anger. " One
would think you had a hidden treasure here."
The sudden pallor that spread over his face struck
412 ARTFUL FASCINATIONS.
her dumb ; what had she said to arouse this white rage ?
The words escaped her memory as they were uttered,
but they had given him a blow on the heart. Nelson
recovered himself promptly.
" Well," he said, with less of bitterness in his voice,
"you have chosen to seek me without invitation and
without motive, so far as I can understand. If you have
any business, let me know it ?"
" Cannot a woman visit her husband without special
business ?" retorted the wife.
" Her husband ?" he repeated, in a low, sneering
voice.
She burst into tears.
"Nelson, this is cruel."
" Cruel ; I thought you did not understand the term 1"
She could control her passion no longer, but stamped
angrily on the marble floor with her foot.
" Nelson Thrasher, this is too much, after persecuting
me with your attentions, begging me upon your knees
to become your wife. I am insulted in my own house,
sneered at almost before my own servants, neglected,
trampled on "
" Be silent, madame ! these complaints are false. It is
I who have been outraged and insulted ; set at naught
under my own roof; left to solitude, when my heart
ached for the company of my wife ; and all because I
brought to you a devotion more perfect than man ever
gave to woman ; because I loved you well enough to
deserve the contempt which you rain upon me."
Mrs. Nelson began to cry and wring her hands at this,
and, after the fashion of widows who marry a second
time, sobbed out : " It was no more than she deserved.
Oh, if her first husband had only lived — never in his
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS. 413
whole life had he spoken a harsh word to her. Alas,
what a fool she had been !"
Nelson heard her impatiently ; the mention of Cap-
tain Mason did not soften his heart, but closed it even
against her tears and the beauty that they brightened,
as dews refresh a rose.
She paused in her grief, and looked at him from under
her wet eyelashes. The tears rendered her glance very
tender and sorrowful. His countenance softened. She
saw it ; and, going round the table, leaned over his chair,
fanning his cheek with her breath.
" Nelson, have you really ceased to love me ?"
There was truth in the bottom of the man's heart, and
he could not answer " Yes ;" so he was silent, and sat
beneath her caresses with downcast eyes. At last he
looked up. There was forgiveness in his face, but it was
stern and pale.
"Ellen, I did love you — I bought you at a fearful
price. How much I gave, how much I risked, you will
never know. How miserable I have been, you can never
guess. All I asked was a little love and some show of
respect. You gave me neither. I could not win them
with entreaties or buy them with gold. You never loved
me. You never liked me, Ellen."
She moved closer to him. The dew upon her check
cooled Jpis anger. He could not hate her quite yet.
The time might come ; but it was sweet to put it off,
even for a little while.
" But I love you now."
As this soft whisper fell upon his heart, the serpent
that had lifted his crest so angrily settled down, and
went to sleep stupidly, as if it never would uncoil again.
The woman bore her triumph with caution, and would
414 ARTFUL FASCINATIONS.
not seem elated. She sank to his side on one knee,
forcing him to support her head with his hand, which
yielded to the guidance of her soft touch, as the stern
heart had given way to her caressing speech.
" You have been very harsh with me," was her sweet
reproach ; " and all because I cannot be happy when
you will not trust me."
"Trust you?"
" Yes ; you keep secrets from me. You are jealous
because other men admire me."
" No, Ellen ; I am jealous because you have no value
for my admiration, not because others think }rou beau-
tiful."
" But you keep secrets from me."
"What secrets ?" he faltered.
" Oh, a great many."
She dared not come to the point at once for his face
was growing dark again.
She watched his face keenly — it lowered like a thunder
cloud. That pretence of jealousy was only a decoy sub-
ject— she cared nothing for his early love, but was pain-
fully intent on gaining his secret of the treasures.
Without that knowledge she must be forever at his
mercy — always going through scenes like the one which
had just passed, or sink back into comparative poverty
by abandoning him altogether. The partial indepen-
dence which he had bestowed only made her more eager
for new concessions.
"Then you have other secrets. Where is all the
great wealth you told me of. I never saw it. I have
no proof that it exists."
She spoke very naturally, but he understood her
drift, and knew, in the depths of his heart, that it was
ARTFUL FASCINATIONS. 415
this secret which chained her in that loving position at
his knee. Still, with his softened feelings, it was pleas-
ant to have her there at any cost, so he played with the
question as a good angler trifles with his fly on the sur-
face of a lake.
" You have the best of all proof, Ellen— that of spend-
ing the money."
" Yes, I know ; but what is that compared to the con-
fidence of one's husband ?"
He smiled almost pleasantly, leaned forward, and
opening the book which had been closed from her in-
spection, pointed out a page with his finger.
" What — the Bible !" she exclaimed, astonished at the
nature of his studies.
"Yes," he said, quietly. "I was reading the history
of Sampson."
She looked at him a moment, and the blood mounted
slowly to her forehead. He saw the flush, and turned
away his eyes.
Not another word was spoken. She arose from her
half kneeling posture, and he stood up.
" You will not trust me now," Avas her gentle leave-
taking, "because you think I do not love you, but time
will show how mistaken you are."
She reached up her mouth to be kissed, but he
touched her forehead with his lips, and she went away
as she came, rustling her silks luxuriously along the
mosaic floor.
He followed her with his eyes till she disappeared,
then sat down, supporting his forehead with one hand.
"Ah, what a creature she is," he murmured. "If one
could only buy her in selling himself to perdition, what
man would shrink from the price ? But who can say
41 6 ARTFUL FASCINATIONS.
that he possesses her ? My secret ! No, Ellen Mason !
that is your chain ! — the shackle that keeps you here 1
I will never break it — never 1"
A noise at the door caused him to look up. She had
come back, and stood smiling upon him.
" You defy me — you liken me to that woman in the
Bible, and keep secrets from me — this is a good reason
for amusing myself elsewhere. I will not do that any
more. Keep your secret, and hoard your treasures. I
will not trouble you concerning them. Only let us be
friends. There will be no happiness for either of us
without that."
The woman offered her kisses again, and this time he
did not avoid her lips — still she could not feel that her
victory was complete.
After she had gone, Nelson cast his eyes on the floor,
and started with an exclamation of dismay. When his
wife fell into her passion she had stood directly over
the centre ornament in the massive floor, a secret spring
had yielded to the stamp of her foot, the stone had
whirled from its place, leaving an opening of some
inches, circling half around the centre ornament like a
crescent.
" Had the woman seen this ?"
The thought made him wild ; great drops started to
his forehead, while he fell upon his knees, and strove to
replace the stone. It shot back to its groove, completing
the Mosaic pattern. When all was secure, he sat down
and fell into thought. A feeling of insecurity seized
upon him; would this woman wrest his secrets from
him after all — not by her fascinations, but through craft
and watchfulness ?
No ; he would make sure against that. The ornament
might give way again, but it should tell no secrets.
GATHERING APPLES. 417
CHAPTER LXIII.
GATHERING APPLES.
LITTLE Paul was standing under the apple tree, with
Rose Mason close by. The thick grass under their feet
was littered with golden apples, streaked with rosy red,
which Jube had shaken from the boughs.
" Here, little missus," cried the negro, looking down
through the thick leaves, and balancing a noble apple in
his hand. " Hold up your apron, little missus, and
down it will come so pretty into the white nest, so."
Rose lifted her little apron of ruffled dimity, and held
it up, laughing and shaking her golden curls in the sun-
beams, the happiest little creature alive.
" Be careful," cried Paul, looking fondly on the beau-
tiful creature. " Don't you drop it on her head, Jube ;
it would almost kill her."
Jube laughed, and dropped the apple, which fell plump
into the apron, but with a force that tore it from the
grasp of those tiny hands ; so, after all, the apple rolled
away into the grass.
Both Paul and Rose made a plunge. The boy seized
upon the apple first, and held it over his head, tempting
Rose, with his bright eyes laughing pleasantly. She
leaped after it, and danced up and down like a fairy, for
her little feet scarcely trampled the grass.
Paul was taller, by a whole foot, than the little girl, so
he held the fruit out of reach, smiling with his lips, and
laughing with his eyes, at her graceful efforts. Jube got
2G
418 GATHERING APPLES.
astride a huge limb of the apple tree, and looked down
upon the fun, showing his teeth through the leaves.
The minister stood at his study window, benignly re-
garding them, drawn from his manuscript sermon by
their riotous shouts of laughter ; while his wife, who
was sewing on the back porch, sat with her needle half
suspended, smiling brightly on the scene.
It was a pleasant sight, and the whole family enjoyed
it with all the zest of innocent hearts. The good
housewife loved those two children almost as if they
had been her own, and as for Jube, the heart must have
been hard indeed which did not turn kindly to the good
negro, who brought his huge bodily strength to the aid
of every thing that required it, and who was good-
natured as a Newfoundland dog.
The housewife was so occupied with the pretty strife
under the apple tree that she did not hear a knock at
the front door, and was quite taken by surprise when
the help flung open that leading to the porch, and re-
vealed two strange men standing in the hall behind her.
When the door was opened, shouts of laughter swept
through it from the orchard, and one of the men, with-
out heeding the lady, passed by her, saying :
" Excuse me ! It is my child — my little daughter !"
and with quick strides he advanced toward the apple
tree, leaving his companion behind.
"Don't be skeered nor nothing, marm," said Rice,
looking eagerly toward the apple tree. " It's his little
darter, and he's just found out where she is, arter a
tough siege among the niggers in St. Domingo, where
we thought he was left dead. I seed him fall down like
an ox with the blow of an axe, among a hull swarm of
'cm in the cellar of one of them St. Domingo houses,
GATHERING APPLES. 419
and arterward I saw 'em carry him off to be buried.
They took him up into the mountains, marm, and his
goodness saved his life arter all ; for one of the niggers
that he'd saved from a flogging once knew him, and
when the rest wanted to kill him over agin, this 'ere
chap jest begged him off and took him away to his own
hut and kinder nussed him up, you see ; but it was
a good while afore he got well, and he had a tough time
getting away — had to take a vessel going 'round the
Horn.
The minister had been disturbed by the knock which
his wife had failed to hear, and now stood in the back
door listening to this rapid narrative with a look of
wonder in his face, while his wife sat with her breath
suspended, and the color dying gradually from her
cheek, appalled by the first glimpse of a crime in which
she felt almost like a participant.
Meanwhile, Captain Mason reached the apple tree,
and paused a few feet from Rose, with his arms ex-
tended, striving to call out, "My daughter, my
daughter," but the words died on his lips, and broke up
in tears ; thus he stood before the child trembling like a
criminal, and with his noble features all in a tumult of
tender agitation.
Rose had just succeeded in coaxing the apple from
Paul, and tossing it into the air, was intent on catching
it with her hands, but her eyes fell upon the stranger,
and the sight seemed to harden her into stone. The
apple fell through her half-lifted hands, the laughter
froze on her lips, and her blue eyes opened wide and
wild.
" Rose, my own little Rose, have you forgotten me so
soon ?"
420 GATHERING APPLES.
The child uttered a faint wail ; her hands fell down ;
she stood before him like a flower withering at the
stalk.
"Father! oh, father!"
The words came forth in a cry of pain, yet joy shone
in her face.
He knelt down on the grass and folded her close to
his heart, raining kisses on her forehead, her hair, and
her pretty hands. " My child, my child," he murmured,
with eager tenderness. " She is frightened. She be-
lieved me dead. She has not had time to be glad. Oh,
Rose, it is your father ; kiss me, kiss me, little Rose."
The child trembled in his arms, but reached up her
lips and kissed him over and over again.
" Now," said Mason, putting her away from his
bosom, and examining her with tears of proud fondness
in his eye, " now, my little Rose, go with me to your
mother ; is she in the house ?"
Again that shiver came over the child ; she bent her
eyes to the earth, and seemed to wither under his look.
" Oh, father, father, don't."
What is the matter, Rose — why are you afraid ?
Come, come, go with me to your mother."
" Mother isn't here," faltered the child.
A look of keen disappointment swept Mason's face.
" Not here ! Not with her child ! Then, where is she ?"
" I don't know, father, indeed I don't ; she would marry
Captain Thrasher, and go away. I begged and begged
her not to ; but she would do it."
Rose began to cry bitterly, in the midst of these
words. Captain Mason put her away with horror.
" Would marry Captain Thrasher ! Captain Thrasher !"
lie spoke in a hoarse whisper, as if the words chilled
him.
GATHERING APPLES. 421
" Oh, I couldn't help it !" pleaded poor Rose, drop-
ping on her knees, and holding up both hands like an
infant Samuel.
" No, sir ; Rose tells the truth. She tried and tried,
but madame would go," said Paul, dropping on one knee
by Rose, and pleading for her with his eyes. " That
bad man came after madame, and put my mother's jewels
on her neck. It was them which carried her away from
Rose."
"Married to Captain Thrasher 1" The words came
forth hoarsely from his white lips. " My wife 1"
Rice came up at the moment, looking fierce and
agitated.
" Come away, captin, come away ; this isn't no place
for us," he said. " I will search the rascal out, though
he were hid away in the icebergs of the frozen ocean.
I'll neither eat nor sleep till he's handcuffed and shackled
down in jail."
" Is this thing true, Rice ?" inquired Mason, in a
deadly whisper.
" True as the gospel, captin. He married 'em both
—your wife and my sister. Oh !"
The sailor ground his teeth, and clenched his hand
until it looked like a mass of iron.
" Married to your sister ?"
" Yes, captin ; it was his name she wouldn't give up.
She sot there on the gallows with that marriage writ-
ing in her bosom, and let the women sneer at her with-
out a word, all to save that villain from disgrace. When
she fainted away in my arms after they took her cloAvn,
the old woman found this a lying agin her heart. I took
it out, and swore an oath to search the sarpent out ; but
his father told me that he'd gone off on a whaling ship
422 GATHERING APPLES.
afore she was took up, and didn't know nothing about
it, so I waited. But I'm on his track now. He's on
this 'ere continent, and I'll find him, or die on the hunt.
Don't look so skeered, little Paul ; you haint got nothing
to do with this ; so you needn't look at a chap in that
'ere pitiful way, no how. I aint mad with you, if I didn't
shake hands."
" But Rose, poor Rose," pleaded the boy.
Rice looked kindly on the little girl. " Poor gal, poor
little critter," he muttered, shaking his head ; but what
is her suffering to his'n, I should like to know. If his
heart isn't broke, I don't know the signs. Come, cap-
tin, don't look so down in the mouth; we've both got a
job afore us, and had better be a doing uv it."
Mason stood with his back to the group, gazing heav-
ily on the earth.
" She thought I was dead ; he told her so ; and, per-
haps, believed it. The wretch persecuted her before she
was married. She was alone and destitute — a widow —
very proud, and so helpless. Poor Ellen."
" Come, captin, my heart burns like a live coal. I
long to be after the villain," said Rice.
" Be after him — oh, yes ; but where ? He is your sis-
ter's husband — that paper proves it. Legally married
. — and yet — and yet "
He paused — cold shudders crept through his frame —
tears of agony heaved his chest — then the might of his
grief broke forth, and covering his face with both hands,
he wept like a little child.
" Captin — Captin Mason, I say, look up — don't,
don't — I can't stand it," cried Rice. "It's bad enough
to see a woman cry ; but this 'ere is more than I can
bear, darn me if it aint."
MARRIED AGAIN. 423
CHAPTER LXIV.
MARRIED AGAIN.
CAPTAIN MASON removed his hands, and turned his
face, white and tear-stained, upon his friend.
"Rice, I loved that woman."
" True enough, captin ; but don't think about that ;
there are as good fish in the sea as ever were taken out.
Jest let us get hold of that scoundrel. We've got him
tight now. This 'ere thing of marrying two wives is
biggermy, and all the lawyers in Connecticut couldn't
keep a man from State's prison if that 'ere crime is
brought agin him. Come on, captin, I'll expose him."
"And Ellen — the mother of my child !" said Mason,
sadly.
Rice took off his hat, and began to brush it with the
sleeve of his coat.
" Yes, captin, I'm afeard we couldn't do one without
the other ; but the woman desarves it."
"Rice, Rice, her child is looking at you."
"And my sister is moaning her heart out in Simsbury
Mines — my innocent sister. If the court had known
that she was a married woman it wouldn't have been so
hard with her. It was to get rid of her disgrace, they
said, that she killed her child. If they had but known
that there wasn't no disgrace she wouldn't have been
sent to that- prison. Mebby, if I was to show this cer-
tificate to the governor now, he'd let her out, and put
Thrasher in her place." ; «
Mason looked at him with heavy eyes.
424 MARKIED AGAIN.
" His guilt would do nothing to prove her innocent ;
and she, the woman who was my wife, had no share in
this guilt ; but the disgrace will fall on her. She be-
lieved herself a widow."
"And was in a mighty hurry to get clear of the
name," muttered Rice, under his breath.
Mason did not hear him, but had relapsed into the
pain of his thoughts. Meantime, Jube had come slowly
down from the apple tree, and stood before them, smiling
and softly rubbing his hands. This cheerful uncon-
sciousness of every thing but joy, at seeing his best
friends, in the negro, was a new pang to Mason. He
spoke kindly to the poor fellow, and that was all. In a
moment he had relapsed into gloom again. Paul pulled
Jube by his garments, and drew him on one side. When
the two came back Jube's face was sombre like the rest.
He could not comprehend the entire case, but knew
that some wrong had been done to his benefactor, and
this wounded his heart to the core.
Rice came closer to Mason, and drew him aside.
" Captin, will it make you happier if I let this villain
go, and never say a word about it ?"
Mason started.
"I don't know, Rice. I am so bewildered nothing
seems real; not even my child there."
" I can search him out. He's in this country, that I
feel sure about. They must be living together some-
where, either in York State or "
Mason started as if an adder had stung him.
"Living together!"
There was fire enough in his heart then. It flashed
from his eyes, and made every nerve in his body
tremble.
MAliKIED AGAIN. 425
" Living together!" he repeated, with sickening pain.
" Tear them apart, Rice. She has no moral guilt now,
but it may come to that. Tear him from her side. He
is your sister's husband — she was my wife ! Drag them
asunder! I could not see her living with that man,
without tearing him all to pieces ! No, no ; if the choice
is guilt or disgrace, let the shame come. I can bear it.
My little girl — God help us — she can bear it."
Rose began to cry, and creeping up to her- father,
nestled her little hand in his.
" Don't, father ; she'll come back again, if you only
ask her !"
Mason grasped the little hand till Rose almost cried
out with the pain, but she was a brave child, and gave
no sign that she was hurt.
At last Mason addressed Rice more composedly, but
still in a trembling voice.
" Where was this thing done, Rice ?"
" In that house. The minister himself married them.
All the family saw it, Jube and Paul among the rest."
" Is there a register ?"
" Yes, you can read it."
" I will."
They went into the house together, slowly, like men
walking at a funeral, Jube and the children followed
with downcast looks, wondering what terrible thing had
happened, when Rose ought to be so glad now that her
father had come back.
The minister and his little wife were in great trouble
when their guests came back to the house, she had evi-
dently been weeping, and really felt as if some inevitable
disgrace had fallen upon the sacred character of her hus-
band. He was terribly bewildered, and with the frag-
426 MARRIED AGAIN".
inents of a half finished sermon in his head, found great
difficulty in comprehending the true state of the case.
"When it really got fastened on his intelligence, the
shock was powerful in its effects ; he could not be per-
suaded that some stain might not rest upon him, and
that he ought not on the very next Sunday to acknow-
ledge himself a grave sinner before the entire congre-
gation.
It was a sad visit, both to the father and child. At the
moment they sprang to each others' embrace, this fearful
intelligence had thrust them apart, and after this, all
their endearments were given in tears. Rose felt as if
there were something wrong in claiming the caresses of
her own father, and it seemed as though her little heart
would break when he put her aside, afraid that she
would be terrified by the groans that no effort of his
could entirely suppress.
They parted in sadness, for years, if not for ever.
During all her sweet girlhood, the minister's wife was
all the mother Rose must henceforth know ; as for the
father, how bitterly did he regret the kindness which
had spared his life, and healed his wounds among the
negroes of St. Domingo. What was he now but a
wronged, desolate man, worse than widowed, worse
than childless, for to him the very memory of affection
had become a pain.
As they went' from the house, Rice wrung his cap-
tain's hand. "You will let me punish the man ?" he
said, pleading for the justice that was his by right.
" Punish him, but spare her — spare my child. Sepa-
rate them quietly ; and if it must be — if she is not will-
ing to leave him — tell her that I am alive. If she falls
dead at your feet, tell her the truth. But if she gives
him up, leave her in peace."
THE FANCY BALL. 427
CHAPTER LXV.
THE FANCY BALL.
THE result of Mrs. Mason's latest reconciliation with
the man she honestly believed to be her husband, was
soon made visible in more lavish expenditure, and a dis-
play in her entertainments never attempted before.
An exuberant taste kept her always on the alert. The
constant suggestion of some extravagant novelty be-
came an habitual stimulant, now that home affection had
become a hopeless thing with her.
During the season of moroseful discontent which we
have described, Nelson had checked this wanton^raving
for display by less liberal supplies of money ; but now
that he was grateful and generous again, the fever burst
forth in new vigor. One of her fashionable friends had
just given a fancy ball, where the flowers alone cost a
little fortune. Mrs. Nelson was not to be distanced
thus in extravagance. She would give an entertain-
ment before which that of her rival should wither into
insignificance, like the roses swept from her banquet-
ing hall the morning after that great triumph. This had
been a leading motive for the interview described in
another chapter. With a few smiles and caressing words
she had won a new hold upon the purse, which opened
grudgingly only when she grew neglectful or insolent by
a repletion of her wishes.
Mrs. Nelson's rival had given a fancy ball at one of
the principal watering-places, which certainly had proved
the great success of the season. She would do some-
428 THE FANCY BALL
thing better than that. Her ball shcnild rival royalty.
It should be quoted in our republican society as the
charming entertainments of Maria Antoinette, in her
little palace in the Park at Versailles, became the con-
versation of all France.
The weather was lovely. Summer had just melted
into the golden autumn. The atmosphere was delicious
with fruity odors, in which the breath of late flowers
mingled in sensuous richness. This was the season for
her grand effort. Society had just come back from the
springs and the fashionable watering-places, eager for
something new. Her friends should be gratified ; nay,
astonished. She would throw that entire mansion open.
Its rich draperies, its statues and bronzes, the frescoed
ceilings, and rare pictures. All should flash upon the
world ^t once. She would illuminate the grounds, weigh
down the old forest trees with a fruitage of lights, build
pavilions and rustic bridges. Nothing should be omitted
to turn her residence into a paradise.
This was all accomplished. As if to crown her
triumph, a moon, just swelling from its crescent, came
out among the bright stars, and shone with peculiar
radiance that evening. Every thing smiled upon this
woman. Officious menials in livery crowded her halls
— her supper room was one bower of blossoms ; deli-
cious fruits nestled in them, and mingled still more
ruddy tints with their bloom ; cut-glass shone through
their leaves like gushes of water ; silver glittered
through them like frost work ; and heavy garlands
clambered up the pillars that supported the frescoed
ceiling, forming light colonnades on each side, where
mirrors reflected every thing, as lovely landscapes are
seen sleeping in a lake — the shadows more beautiful
than the substance.
THE FANCY BALL. 429
Down from her dressing-room, rustling in white silk,
embroidered with silver flowers, that shimmered like
moonlight among the heavy folds, came the mistress of
this festival, superb in her own beauty, with jewels
flashing on her bare neck and arms, and lighting up her
heavy tresses like clustering stars.
Nelson met her on the broad staircase. He was
grave and sad. These ostentatious entertainments
were against his taste, and always displeased him.
This evening a heavier weight than usual fell upon
his spirits ; even the rare loveliness of his wife failed to
win a smile to his lips.
She held out her hand, smiling radiantly upon him.
Her triumph was certain. Nothing like the scene that
broke upon her through the open door had met her eye
before. She could afford to smile on the man whose
gold had opened this paradise to her ambition. He
made no response, but sighing heavily, turned at her
request and walked by her side through the sumptuous
rooms. She was exultant ; the effect surpassed her
expectations. The tread of her silken^clad feet on the
marble floor and moss-like carpets was like that of an
empress, but it annoyed her that Nelson took no part
in her joy. She observed that he turned away with un-
easiness whenever she lifted her arm to point out a
beautiful object or some peculiar effect. She did not
know that the flash of those jewels which clasped her
snow-white arm was like the glitter of a serpent to him.
A thousand times he had wished those diamonds at the
bottom of the ocean.
Those jewels reminded him of so much that he would
have given worlds to forget. They brought to his mind
that palace home at Port au Prince, where he had stolen
430 THE FANCY BALL.
at night in search of the treasures which, in the end,
tempted that woman to become his wife. He remem-
bered the horrid scene in that cellar. He remembered
the descent of Captain Mason upon him just as he was
breaking open the vault where the wealth of many a
rich man lay buried — the honest indignation of that
noble face — the cold protest. Then the crowd of negro
fiends that rushed upon them, reeling with drunkenness,
gnashing their white teeth, and emitting gleams of hatred
from their bloodshot eyes. He remembered how the
crowbar had fallen from his hands, and felt anew the
thrill with which he had pointed out Captain Mason to
the vengeance of these demons.
No wonder he shuddered and turned away sick with
loathing of the jewels. By eternal tortures, such as
pressed upon him now, he had bought them, and,
through them, the woman whose cold beauty they
adorned.
They were the embodiment of his crimes. Why
would she wear them ? Could she not guess that every
rainbow flash that came from her person filled his brain
with pictures of blood ? "Would she never permit him
to forget the riot of that awful night, when the brave
man, whose wife she had been, was dragged lifeless
along the muddy floor of the cellar, and carried off to
be flung in the heaps of slain humanity which blocked
up the streets of Port au Prince after the carnage
which makes men shudder 3'et, even in remembrance ?
She wanted him to be happy, and yet persisted in
wearing those things. True, he had never dared to
object, they were hers. He had bought her with them ;
what excuse could he make for the loathing with which
he regarded their display ?
STRANGE GUESTS. 431
She saw the pallor of his countenance and laughed.
" How strange," she said, surveying herself in a mir-
ror, and changing one of the ornaments in her hair,
"how strange, Nelson, that you never can accustom
yourself to society. The very expectation of doing the
honors of your own house to a fashionable crowd makes
a coward of you ; while I — well, it is true we ladies do
adapt ourselves to circumstances better than men.
Confess this, husband, and I will permit you to tie the
laces of this slipper; see, they have broken loose."
Nelson, still grave and sad, dropped on one knee,
and tied the laces around that exquisitely turned
ankle. She laughed at his awkwardness, and spurned
him playfully with her foot when the task was done.
" Come, now, I hear a carriage. It is early, but our
guests are impatient, I suppose. No wonder ; it is not
often they will see any thing like this. Come, you must
help me receive, or people will think I am ashamed of
my husband."
CHAPTER LXVL
STRANGE GUESTS.
SHE was very playful and charming that night. He
looked into her eyes as they flashed down upon him, and
forgot the jewels. They walked together into the vast
drawing-rooms, and waited for the guests, whose foot-
steps could be heard plainly on the marble floor of the
entrance hall. The steps were heavy, and seemed out
432 STRANGE QUESTS.
of place in that dwelling. The master of all that splen-
dor was strangely impressed by the sound of those
footsteps. His breath came slowly and his restless
eyes sought the door with a species of vague dread in
their glance.
His wife stood careless and smiling, always graceful
and ready to enjoy the surprise of her first guests.
They came forward slowly, the heavy footsteps smoth-
ered in the carpets, and looking around in vague won-
der, as if frightened at finding themselves in the midst
of such splendor.
"Who can they be, dressed in that fashion?" mut-
tered the lady. " I do not know them !"
Nelson watched the two men anxiously as they ap-
proached. They were strangers, and certainly could not
be invited guests. The men saw him, and advanced up
the room.
"Is your name Nelson?" inquired the foremost,
speaking almost in a whisper, for he was awed by the
splendor around him.
" Yes," answered Nelson ; " that is my name."
" Nelson Thrasher ?"
The woman by his side gave a little scream as the
words fell on her ear, but controlled herself instantly,
though the smile left her lips, and the gorgeous fan
trembled in her grasp.
" Yes," said a third person, coming up the room with
a heavy, rolling gate, such as seafaring men attain in
long vo}'ages. " It is Nelson Thrasher. Arrest him
here and now."
Every vestige of color left Thrasher's face — he stood
trembling before the two men like a coward. But the
woman by his side drew her magnificent figure to its
proudest height, and turned scornfully upon them.
STRANGE GUESTS. 433
" You are mistaken ; his name is not Thrasher. This
gentleman is my husband!"
The seafaring man looked at her steadily ; there was
nothing in her words or appearance to excite compas-
sion, so he spoke out bluntly.
" ISTo, marin, you are mistaken. His name is Thrasher,
and he is not your husband, having been married to
another woman long before you left the pine woods."
The color fled from her proud face, till the jewels,
flashing their light across it, gave her features the ap-
pearance of marble. She turned upon Thrasher with
deadly hate in her eyes.
" Is this thing true ?" The words hissed through her
white lips.
He did not answer, but stood before her dumb and
sullen.
"Is this thing true?" she repeated, turning to the
sailor.
"True as judgment, marm."
"And the woman, her name, I say !"
" His wife is my own sister, Katharine Allen."
" His wife 1" she cried, fiercely turning upon Thrasher
again. " Man, have you nothing to say ?"
Thrasher lifted his eyes, heavy and sad as death. " I
loved you, Ellen."
" Loved me 1"
The bitter scorn in her voice made him shrink like a
hound when it feels the lash.
" It is the truth. God only knows how I loved you,
how I do love you."
Her face fairly contracted with the loathing that had
slept in her bosom so long.
2?
434 STRANGE GUESTS.
"And God only knows how I hate yon — how I hated
you then, and shall forever and ever."
" But you married me."
" No, I married these, and these, and these '!"
She dashed one hand against the jewels on her bosom,
hair, and arms, then pointed to the supper room, with
its flowers, and the long vista of saloons opening into
each other.
Thrasher shrunk into himself, standing before her
white and cold. She had no mercy on his wretchedness ;
no control over her own rage.
" Take him away," she said, addressing the men.
" If you have a warrant, use it quickly. Drag him from
my sight, anywhere, so that he is taken far enough, and
buried deep enough."
"Ellen! Ellen!"
The cry of his anguish would have touched a stone
with mercy, but she only drew a sob, and went on, bitter
as death, and sharp as steel. He knew that venomous
truth was spe%king up through her rage, and while she
was treading him to the earth, the viper in his nature
crested itself against her.
You married me for these," he said, pointing to her
bosom, which heaved with rage under its flaming orna-
ments. " I maybe guilty, but not more guilty than you
are, Ellen."
" Take him away — take him away," she cried, " or I
shall die."
" One moment," exclaimed Thrasher, desperately ;
" Ellen speak to me alone. It may be my last request."
Had she been alone, I think the woman would have
refused him — but with all those eyes turned upon her,
she could only step aside to one of those little boudoirs
that his wealth had fitted up for her.
STKANGE GUESTS. 435
" "Well ?" she said, haughtily turning upon him as he
stood before her, pale and shrinking.
" Ellen — Ellen, do not be so cruel to me ; if I have
sinned, it was from the love that made me desperate.
If I have wronged you, think what I gave up for your
sake — how much I risked — how much I have endured."
" "Well ?" she repeated, growing hard and stern with
each word, " what more ?"
" Oh, Ellen," he pleaded, " unsay those cutting words,
they pierce me to the heart — never loved me — hate — oh,
do not strike me so hard !"
"Hate!" sneered the woman. "No, no, that is not
the word, it does not express enough ; I want a stronger
language, something that will combine loathing, detes-
tation, and scorn, all in one word, that I may fling it at
you, and go !"
" Ellen, Ellen !"
She took no heed of this agonized cry, but went on,
her cheeks blanched, and her eyes aflame with passion.
" The only drop of comfort I have," she raved, " is, that
I can for once speak out, and throw off the load of hate
that has fevered every drop of blood in my veins since
the day I married you."
He did not attempt to answer her now. The scathing
words she had uttered seemed to freeze the life from
his whole system. He stood looking upon her with
wild, dreary eyes, his whole face so coldly white that she
paused, drawing a sharp breath, even in the headlong
passion that possessed her.
At last he spoke, but the hollow sound of his voice
made her shiver.
" You hate me — and I, who loved you better than
truth, better than honor, better than my own soul — hate
you, Ellen Mason !"
436 STRANGE GUESTS.
She was petrified. The fearful violence of her passion
had borne her too far — fallen as he was, the man pos-
sessed power. There was his secret ; with all her
patient craft she had failed to win that, and now it
would be buried with him in the prison to which he
must inevitably go. She looked keenly in his face ; it
was hard as granite, and his eyes seemed scarcely human
from the fire that smouldered in them, giving dusky
force to the circles underneath. She knew that at last
her power had been wholly swept away. She saw this
with a pang. The whole scene had come upon her so
suddenty, that she could not yet realize her true position
— that he was not, and never had been her husband ; that
before the world she was a disgraced woman. She remem-
bered, with a thrill of terror, how the measures taken only
to protect her pride, and save her from the intrusions
of Thrasher's family, would now tell against her. The
name partially suppressed, the false history of her posi-
tion, all would go to prove complicity with the criminal
whom she had just exasperated into a bitter enemy.
Stung with this conviction, she stood before Thrasher
in the full humiliation of a haughty spirit overthrown.
A stern sneer crept to his lips as he looked upon her.
He turned and moved toward the door.
"Where are you going ?" she questioned, in a hoarse
whisper.
" I am going to proclaim myself a criminal, and you
Captain Mason's widow !" he said.
" To whom ?"
" To your guests as they come in !"
" You will not be so cruel !"
He laughed like a fiend.
" Cruel !"
STRANGE GUESTS. 437
" So base, then 1"
" Base ! I bought you with money ; sold myself for
love — both were cheated 1"
He passed out of the room, smiling upon her as he
went. She was a sharp-willed woman, crafty and
prompt. The danger was imminent, but she had the
intellect to meet it. Quick as lightning her plan was
matured. She followed him out, and touching one of
the officers on the arm, Avhispered :
" A hundred dollars in gold if you get that man clear
of the house in ten minutes."
" Can't be done, marm. Mr. Rice has gone for more
help. No moving a peg till he comes back."
" But you can lock him up ; put a guard over him ;
do something to save us from this disgrace ! If one
hundred is not enough you shall have five !"
" But where shall we put him — every room in the
house seems turned into a garden ?"
" In the south wing, along that hall, you will find a
room. It has but one door. Iron shutters are concealed
under the ornamental work. Secure them, and it is
impossible for him to escape. Hark ! that is a carriage !
A thousand dollars if you get him off before it reaches
the entrance !"
She was pale as death, and her whispers sounded like
the hiss of a reptile.
The two men consulted together a moment, and
directly one of them touched Thrasher on the arm.
" Come, go with us into another room."
"What room?"
" That in the south wing, with iron shutters and only
one door. It will do."
"No," he said, doggedly; "my house isn't a prison.
438 STRANGE GUESTS.
You have a warrant, execute it. I will pass those people
as they come in."
The men began to expostulate. Ellen Mason trem-
bled with terror, for the carriage was already setting
down its burden at her door.
One of the men came to her for counsel.
" Shall we take him away by force, marm "
"Yes, if it must be — quick."
To her surprise, Thrasher came forward. The ex-
pression of his face had changed — there was a gleam of
malicious triumph in it.
" Madame," he said, " I consent to remain your guest
a little longer." Then, turning to the men, he said:
" How many hours shall I be detained in this room with
one door and iron shutters ?"
"All night," replied the man.
"All night ?" There was something more than a ques-
tion in his voice.
" Yes, yes ; we shan't run the risk of taking you out
in a crowd — depend on it. Too smart a chap for any
risks of that sort."
" No chance of getting off before morning ?" he ques-
tioned again, very earnestly.
" Not the ghost of one — even if Rice himself comes
back. We have all the responsibility."
"Well, I am ready. Farewell, madame."
Ellen Mason followed him, with affrighted looks.
Her guests were coming up the entrance hall in groups.
Thrasher stood immovable, smiling maliciously upon
her. This exasperated the two officers, and they seized
him each by an arm. He shook them off at once, and
moved close to the lady.
" Ellen Mason, if I leave you one more night of tri-
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED. 439
umpli, it is because the blow that I strike shall be for
life, not for an hour."
She drew back, and stood, with a forced smile in her
eyes, looking toward the advancing guests. He, too,
smiled, and walked on, bowing low as he passed the
groups of revellers that now half filled the entrance hall.
The two officers rushed eagerly after him, and seized
him by the arms in the midst of his guests. Again he
shook them off, and, turning toward the south wing, dis-
appeared.
With a wild glitter in her eyes, the mistress of the
mansion watched him till he was lost in the incoming
crowd. Then drawing a heavy breath, she turned to
receive the brilliant throng that surged into her rooms.
CHAPTER LXVII.
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED.
DIRECTLY, that magnificent suite of rooms was full.
The house had given up its gay company group by
group, when the vast apartments overflowed, and the
illuminated grounds grew brilliant as fairy land. It
was remarked that Mrs. Nelson had never received with
such queenly grace before. That superb toilet surpassed
her usual suniptuousness ; the glow of her jewels scarcely
matched the wild light that came and went in her eyes.
Her spirits were unusually brilliant throughout the
whole entertainment ; the scarlet of excitement burned
440 TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED.
on her cheeks ; she seemed lifted out of herself by the
success of this unique fete.
This was the general opinion of her guests. They
could account for the brilliant beauty of her presence in
no other way.
How could strangers guess at the quivering fear that
trembled at her heart when any unusual noise arose in
the crowd which surrounded her with flattery and soft
adulation ? How was it possible for them to know that
the brilliant beauty of her face was lighted by the fever
of anxiety so terrible that her heart quailed under it.
A few of the guests remarked upon the absence of
Mr. Xelson. At first she evaded these inquiries, but, as
the evening drew near its close, she whispered to one of
her most intimate friends a secret that soon spread
through the vast crowd :
Mr. kelson was insane. The men that had been re-
marked with him in the hall were his keepers. The
malady had been growing upon him for months, and
could be kept secret no longer. She had done her best
to conceal it, but of late his eccentricities had become
so uncontrollable that a private asylum had been decided
on. This it was which had made her so restless aud
excited all the evening. People thought it high spirits,
but alas ! how little the world knows of human suffering.
It had been against her will that the party had gone
on. Indeed, her husband's malady had never become
really violent until after the invitations were given out,
but he was quite unfit to appear. It was a great afflic-
tion, but Mrs. Nelson was afraid of her life, and had
with painful reluctance compelled herself to consign her
dear husband entirely into medical hands. Early in the
uiormnar he would leave home.
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED. 441
These were the remarks which floated from lip to lip
when the guests broke into groups after supper, and the
dear friends who had met the lady of the mansion with
congratulations, left with compassionate words of con-
solation, which she received with gentle grace, more
attractive than her previous high spirits had been.
Ellen Mason was a magnificent actress — few women
on the stage ever went through a difficult role so
triumphantly. But when her guests were all gone, the
facts of her position came upon her mind with bitter
force. She looked around on the luxurious ruin of the
supper table, the withered garlands, the groups of glasses
stained with amber, or ruddy wine, the broken pyramids,
and silver baskets^ heaped with dying flowers and re-
jected fruit, with a feeling of absolute disgust. The
glittering confusion made her faint. She longed to rush
by the servants, who were closing the house, and seek
the open air, late as it was. This impulse seized upon
her with such force that she gathered up the scarf of
Brussels point, which had fallen like frost-work over
her dress, and vailing her head with it, stepped through
an open window into the grounds.
The moon was down, but hundreds of colored lamps
still burned in the trees, looking only the more brilliant
from the deep shadows that lay in the leaves. The cool
night air chilled the fever in her veins and gave her
more vivid power of reflection. There is no time when
the emptiness of fashionable life strikes the mind so
forcibly as that which follows a successful entertain-
ment. The ruins of a feast are always oppressive.
The hollowness of her whole life struck Ellen Mason
full upon the heart. What was she after all but a gross
impostor forced to work out the problem of her own
442 TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED.
falsehood without help ? She began to realize the i.
sufficiency of all that had been gained to her life. She
thought of the honest love that had made her humble
home in the pine wood so pleasant. In that home how
often had she thought of scenes like the one before her,
and longed to act a part in them. But these had been
only dreams. They had never deepened to ambitious
hopes till Thrasher came with his brilliant temptations
and won her from that honest roof. What a worthless
life hers had proved since then ! would it always be so ?
had she tied herself forever and ever to all this empti-
ness ? Would she indeed be permitted to revel still
among these golden husks ? That man had threatened
her with his speech and more fiercely still with his eyes.
Oh, how she dreaded him.
Lost in these thoughts she sat down on a garden
chair, and clasping both hands in her lap, began to cry.
This was an unusual weakness. She had wept when the
news of her husband's death came, but seldom since
then. Vanity thrives best in the sunshine, tears are
unnecessary to its growth. And now Ellen Mason's life
was allTanity.
But Ellen wept now. The excitement of the evening
had left her in a state of utter exhaustion. She gathered
the lace scarf over her eyes, and it fell away damp, like
a cobweb heavy with dew.
A slight noise upon the turf made her look up with
some impatience. What servant had dared to follow
and disturb her ?
It was no servant, but a tall man, with the light from
a cluster of lamps lying full upon his face. She arose,
stood upright- a moment, and fell back again, her lips
apart, her e}res closed tight, as if to shut out some terri-
TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED. 443
ble object. Her lips trembled as if words were strug-
gling through them, but they gave forth no sound, and
she fell away with her head resting against the hard
iron fruit and clustering leaves of the garden chair.
The man drew close to her side, when he found that
she was insensible, and bent over her with a counte-
nance full of unutterable grief. There she lay beneath
his eyes like a broken statue. The mother of his child
— the wife of his youth, with the burning shame of a
second and illegal marriage flashing from the jewels on
her bosom and in her hair. But she was the mother of
his child, the object of his first and only love, and that
pale, cold face was wet with tears. His own hands had
aided in separatinf her from that man. It was a solemn
duty, but he had no wish of revenge beyond that. This
task accomplished he would go away and struggle
against his bereavement as a strong man should. He
had not expected, nor perhaps wished to see that
woman's face again, but as it lay beneath his gaze so
like death, something of the solemn tenderness which
death claims came over him. It was not love. It was
not forgiveness — he had never condemned her enough
for that — but the wronged man could not forget that
she had been his wife, and that great sorrow and bitter
shame had fallen upon her that night. He knelt upon
the grass, and lifting her head from its iron resting-
place, drew it to his bosom. The heart beneath scarcely
quickened a pulse. To him she was not a living woman,
luit a memory that had turned to marble under his eyes
and lay like marble against his heart.
It was terrible to see a human being so perfectly life-
less and yet feel that vitality existed in the pulseless
444 TOGETHER, YET SEPARATED.
heart. He did not touch that forehead with his lips,
but passed one hand tenderly over it, muttering:
" Poor Ellen— poor lost Ellen."
She did not move ; his words failed to reach her. He
felt how cold she was growing, and lifting her in his
arms carried her into the house ; for the window through
which she had passed was still open, the light of a chan-
delier poured through it, and was exhausted in the
flower beds underneath.
In passing through the shrubbery the lace scarf
caught on a rose-bush and was torn in fragments. He
remembered how the drapery which had shrouded
Paul's mother had been swept from the dead, and
sighed heavily, as if composing thft one also for the
grave. _ •
Mason passed through the window and stood in the
little breakfast room, which has already been described.
Through the open doors he caught a glimpse of the sup-
per room, from which the scent of luscious fruits and
dying flowers came with sickening force. On the other
hand was a long vista of drawing-rooms, with the
lights half extinguished, and a host of glittering objects
visible through the semi-darkness, as lightning breaks
through a cloud surcharged with electricity.
A sadness like that of death fell upon Mason as he
saw these things. They told, in one glance, the history
of her involuntary sin. Why should he wait there to
cover her with new anguish and more living shame when
life came back ? He laid her down among the silken
cushions of a couch Avhose crimson warmth only made
her face more deathly, and went away forever. What
more was there for him to do ? Already he had per-
suaded Rice to spare that proud woman the last humili-
THE TREASURE VAULT. 445
ation of her rashness, and keep her name,, as it was now
recognized, out of all legal proceedings necessary to
the conviction of Nelson Thrasher. Beyond this, mag-
nanimity itself was powerless.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
THE TREASURE VAULT.
MEANTIME Thrasher entered the room which had
always been considered as particularly his own. The
officers, went after him, found out the iron shutters, and
fastened them securely. Then looking complacently
around this impromptu prison, they went into the hall,
locking the door securely outside.
Thrasher sat down in his easy chair, and leaning one
hand on the table, waited patiently till they were gone.
When all was quiet, he got up, crossed the room softly,
and drew a couple of bolts, hidden in the elaborate
carving of the door frame. He fastened the shutters
in the same way, so that it was impossible for any one
to gain entrance to the apartment against his desire.
When every thing was safe, he pushed the library
table aside, and kneeling upon the mosaic floor, wheeled
the centre ornament from its place. He descended to
a flight of steps that led from the opening, and with a
touch of the finger wheeled the pavement into place
again, closing himself into a deep vault, apparently of
solid mason work. Casks, evidently filled with choice
wines, for the name of some rare vintage was marked on
446 THE TREASURE VAULT.
each, were piled on one side of the vault ; a rack filled
•with bottles rose to the ceiliug opposite. It was, after
all, only a wine vault that he hud taken so much pains
to conceal. This would have been the first conclusion
had any one followed Thrasher into that recess. But
his actions spoke of something more.
Previous to entering the vault, he had lighted a lamp,
which he now placed on the pavement. With a quick
wrench of the hand, he swung the wine rack from its
place, and busied himself with one of the slabs of granite
which composed the wall. That too swung open, and
exposed an inner compartment, or square chamber, from
which came a flash of precious metals, and iron-clamped
boxes, piled in heaps within. A broad glow, given
back to the light, streamed into the outer vault, filling
it with golden gleams.
Thrasher stepped into the recess, and dragged out a
bronze box, scarcely larger than that which held the
jewels entrusted to Captain Mason, and which now
blazed on the person of his wife. He opened this box
carefully, and took out a heavy block of gold, evidently
pure metal, but polished smooth^. It was shaped like
a common house brick, and weighed so heavily that the
strong hand of Thrasher sunk under it, and it fell to
the stone floor, giving out a ringing sound that made
him start, notwithstanding all his precautions, and the
fact that he was now deep in the bosom of the earth.
There were many lines of fine engraving on one of
the flat surfaces of the brick ; the writing was in French,
with which Thrasher seemed familiar, but he read it
over with great care more than once. Then sitting
down, with the brick before him, he took out a graver
and began to cut some rude letters on the opposite side.
THE TREASURE VAULT. 447
The gold was very soft, in its pure state, and he made
rapid progress ; but the record, whatever it was, took
more than two hours in the completion. When it was
finished he dropped the brick into its box, leaving it
unlocked. This he placed just within the mouth of the
recess, muttering, " it will be the first thing to catch the
eye."
After this, Thrasher opened another box and took
out what seemed, by their glitter, -to be some unset
diamonds. These he placed in his bosom. Then filling
his pockets with a weight of the gold coin, he stepped
into the outer vault, swung the granite slab into place,
and proceeded to cement it into the wall with some
material which he took from one of the casks.
When this was accomplished he stole softly up the
steps again, let himself into the upper room, and pro-
ceeded to undraw the bolts, which had given the doors
and windows a double fastening. There was nothing
more for him to do. Unconsciously the woman who
was his fate, had placed him in a position to accomplish
all that was needful to protect his wealth, and even if it
should be found, to save it from her rapacity. Once
satisfied of this, he became less excited ; for during his
work, great drops of perspiration had stood on his fore-
head, and a wild eagerness burned in his eyes ; now he
sat down in his easy chair for the last time, and sternly
awaited the coming of his captors.
About daybreak they opened his prison and took him
forth. He turned a fierce look on the paradise his wild
love had created for a woman who now loaded his mis-
fortunes with scorn, and muttered such bitter words
under his breath that their venom turned his lips white
448 SIMSBURY MINES.
as it passed them. In these words the last remnant of
his love for Ellen Mason went out, poisoning the sweet
breath of the flowers over which it swept.
CHAPTER LXIX.
m
SIMSBURY MINES.
AT the base of Greenstown mountains, in the town
of Granby, stands an old ruin, surrounded perhaps by
more fearful associations than any one spot in the
United States. The very tread of a stranger's foot on
the soil arouses painful thoughts, for it awakens the
reverberations which haunt those cavernous ruins, and
every sound seems weighed down with moans, such as
were for many years common to the place.
It is an old ruined prison I am writing about — one of
the most terrible places of confinement ever known to
this free country. A copper mine, which failed to yield
its rich metal in the abundance demanded by capitalists,
had been abandoned, and over the caverns hollowed
out from the bosom of the earth, the authorities of Con-
necticut erected a prison for criminals. Thank God the
place is a ruin now.
Humanity has dragged the wretched sinners from
their burrowing places under ground, and given them at
least pure air and the sunshine which God created
alike for the innocent and the guilty. The spot is
deathly silent, but you cannot pass it without an aching
heart, for the misery once crowded in those caverns
SIMSBURY MINES. 449
gathers around the imagination, and settles upon it in a
heavj7 cloud, surcharged with groans. You know that
human misery has been crowded there in masses, with-
out air to breathe, or such light as God gives to his
meanest animal. You think of this till the hollows of
the mountains seem gorged with groans, and the cry
of suffering souls comes up through the very pores
of the earth, making the wild flowers tremble beneath
the doleful misery that grew desperate beneath their
roots.
A group of rambling wooden buildings thrown promis-
cuously together, at the foot of a range of hills, stand-
ing out bleak and bare, form the ruthless feature of a
lovely landscape. One building, lifted from the abrupt
descent of the mountain by a double terrace of rocks,
commanding a view of the country, which contrasted
its rich cultivation, pleasant homesteads, and well-filled
barns with that narrow roof and meagre belfry, rose
beneath the wild beauty of the mountains. This was
the aspect of Newgate built over the Sinisbury Mines,
at the time Katharine Allen first recognized it from
the highway, which she must not tread again for eight
weary years.
The front building alone was visible. That long at-
tachment which runs back toward the hills, with its
range of narrow windows, and the smaller buildings
crowded against it, lay in shadow, but from the distance
there was something imposing in the uncouth pile. The
sun was approaching its rest, and flung increasing light
around the old prison, giving it gleams of false cheerful-
ness that never entered its walls.
Katharine, who sat in the heavy country wagon, be-
tween her guards, chained to the seat, and with her deli-
28
450 SIMSBURY MINES.
cate wrists chafed by the iron that weighed those little
hands down to her lap, looked toward the gaunt pile
with a feeling of sad speculation. Why had she — an
innocent woman — been sent to a place like that ? for it
was terrible, even in the glory of sunset. In her whole
life she had committed no wrong worthy of more than
gentle punishment. Was it not enough that her hus-
band had abandoned her ? that her child was dead ?
that her name had become a by-word in the land ? Not
enough that she had gone through the first and most
bitter portion of her sentence — had suffered that hour
of public scorn on the gallows at New Haven — a more
terrible penance than if her life had been exacted, for
the memory was with her always ? Must the laws be
forever warring at her young life ? Was that huge pile
to be her home for eight long years ? They would
crowd her down among the desperate criminals who bur-
rowed their lives out in the bosom of that mountain, and
leave her to die there.
But could she die ? Would the principles of life ever
give way ? When the sentence had been pronounced
upon her, and the judge had condemned her to go
through all the forms of an ignominious death without
its last horrible pangs, she had said to herself, " It is
well. I shall not live through that hour. They will not
kill me ; but I shall drop dead on the scaffold. It is
thus our Lord will be merciful, and save me from all this
misery."
But, alas! we cannot die of our own will. She had
outlived that hour, and now stood before her second
fate, and no signs of death came to snatch her from it.
The anguish of this thought broke upon her as her eyes
fell upon that gloomy pile, and she cried out in the
depths of her soul •
SIMSBURY MINES. 451
" My God ! my God ! why hast thou forsaken me ?"
As the cry left her lips, she lifted her chained hands
to her face, and shut out the prison from her sight,
moaning because God would not let her die.
The two men heard this outburst of misery, and looked
on each other in silence. One turned his head aside,
and drew the cuff of his coat across his eyes, and the
other spoke sharply to his horses and began to lash
them ; but his voice and arm failed, and he, too, turned
away his face.
" Look up, my poor gal," he said, at last, pointing
toward the mountain with his whip. " It doesn't look
so tarnal gloomy now."
Katharine dropped her hands, and the iron clashed
down to her lap again. The sun was now at its full
setting, and flung a thousand gorgeous tints on the
old prison. Its windows sent back a blaze of gold,
the cupola seemed brimming over with crimson radi-
ance, and rich lights slanted down the terraces of the
mountain.
" Yes," she said, thoughtfully. " God i» everywhere
— even in that place. If He will not let me die it is
because there is work for me to do. I shall find it
among poor souls yonder — more miserable still than I
am, for they struggle under a weight of guilt ; and I — •
God help us all. I shall find some one to tend and com-
fort there."
Katharine grew resigned under these good thoughts,
and a sweet tranquillity stole into her eyes. She was
innocent. God knew that, and she knew it, for had not
her babe gone to Him pure from her own heart ? Why
should she question His graciousness ? If He per-
mitted her home to be in that prison, what right had
452 SIMSBURY MINES.
she to rebel against it? In this frame of mind she
entered Newgate.
It was that sad hour which consigned the prisoners,
whose toil lay above ground, to this living tomb, deep in
the earth. The crash of hammers and clank of iron had
ceased in the workshops, and the prisoners were assem-
bled in the main building, read}7 to descend into the
mines in search of such rest as that terrible place could
afford.
The officers of the prison were occupied. Guards
leaned idly on their muskets, and a group of keepers
kept strict watch over the terrible group. They had no
time for newcomers, so Katharine stood between her
guards, drooping wearily under her irons, and looked
on, forgetting herself in compassion for those lost
wretches.
A trap-door, scarcely large enough to admit a healthy
man, led to the subterranean dungeons. Around this
the prisoners crowded, some swearing fiercely, others
laughing in fiendish glee, a few humble and broken-
hearted, all hustling each other like wild animals
crowded on a precipice. The guards and keepers looked
on impatiently. The clank of chains and those hag-
gard prison faces were familiar to them. They were
only impatient to urge the crowd down that narrow
passage, and seal the unhappy wretches deep in the
bowels of the eartn, when their duty ceased till morning.
Down through this narrow trap the prisoners forced
themselves, cursing as they went, and jesting at their
own misery. At last all had disappeared save a little
band of women in "linsey-woolsey" dresses cut very
scant, who had waited in one corner of the room, under
a guard, for their turn to descend. As they passed
STJISBURY MINES. 453
Katharine, these women lifted their heavy eyes to her
face, too miserable for pity or wonder ; "but her beauty
and the strange expression of her features made them
pause and look upon her as if they could not believe
that she was one of themselves.
Some formalities passed. Katharine's name, age, and
sentence were written down in the black records of the
prison: "Katharine Allen, aged twenty-two, found
guilty of manslaughter in the first degree ; sentenced to
sit upon a gallows in the public square of New Haven
for one hour, and serve eight years at hard labor in the
State Prison at Simsbury."
Twice as the warden made this record he stopped to
look at the prisoner. Her presence troubled him with
vague compassion. He took the irons from her arms
himself, and rubbed the chafed wrists gently with his
palm, muttering, " Poor wretch, poor wretch. It's hard
to put her down among them."
It was not often that this dignitary visited the sub-
terranean prison, but he called the keeper most remark-
able for kindliness of heart and bade him ^ke her away.
His voice was gentle and Katharine looked at him grate-
fully, but she was afraid to speak, for while standing
near the trap-door she had seen a keeper strike one of
the women who presumed to answer him.
A rude ladder, which stood almost perpendicular, led
from the trap-door to the dark caverns underneath.
At the first glance Katharine drew back sick and ap-
palled by the black gulf into which they were urging
her. The warden came forward and strove to reassure
her, but she trembled violently and reeled back from
the door, holding out her hands with a piteous cry for
mercy.
454: SIMSBURY MINES.
There was no help" for it ; she must descend like the
rest, sleep and suffer like the rest, notwithstanding her
beauty and the pure magnetism of her goodness. She
clung to the kind hand reached forth by the warden,
and shutting her eyes sunk through the trap and placed
her trembling feet on the ladder. The keeper was just
below encouraging her. The iron lamp which he held
only served to make the darkness horrible. The black-
ness into which she was passing seemed to cover her
soul and body.
At last her feet touched the earth. The skeleton lad-
der seemed melting away in the darkness overhead.
The keeper's lamp flickered fitfully ; a mouldy scent
floated around her. "This," she murmured, "this
must, indeed, be the valley and shadow of death."
The man opened a door sunk into the walls of the
cavern, and there was a rude cell, occupied by a wooden
bench, over which some straw was scattered ; a slanting
board, also covered with straw, rose a few inches above
the level at one end, and this was all the pillow that
beautiful head would know for eight years. The keeper
carried a coarse gray blanket on his arm, which he laid
down on the bench. Katharine took up the blanket, but
her hands trembled so violently that she could not un-
fold it. He saw this ; set his lamp on the earth, and
spread the blanket over the straw. She tried to thank
him, but could not speak.
The lamp light, faint as it was, revealed drops of
moisture glistening thickly on the walls around her, and
she detected the dull sound of water falling in perpetual
rain from the low ceiling. This was the end of her
journey ; this was her home. The man left her alone ;
no light, no voice 5 the dull dropping of water from the
THE PRISON ANGEL. 455
roof was all the sound she heard. »No wonder that she
cried out again, " My God, my God ! why hast Thou
forsaken me ?"
CHAPTER LXX.
THE PRISON ANGEL.
THERE is no cavern so deep, no darkness so profound
that the Holy One cannot penetrate it with his mercy.
It is unrepentant and stubborn guilt alone which resists
Him. Soon as the cry left her lips, Katharine found
her answer. Notwithstanding the hardness of her bed
and the damp air which floated heavily around her, she
grew calm ; some heavenly strength fell upon her, and,
folding her hands peacefully over her bosom, she fell
asleep. The water kept dropping from the roof, monoto-
nous and cold ; the fresh straw grew moist under her
cheek, but she smiled in the darkness dnd whispered
softly of a little child that had come from a pleasant,
happy place to comfort her, and which would visit that
hard couch nightly, and tell her of the heavenly home
where it had found a resting-place for them both.
When Katharine awoke in the morning, she was sur-
prised to feel how strong the night had made her, and
she went forth to the life which had seemed so terrible,
with the firm resolve to find out her duty and do it.
What human being ever turned resolutely to the per-
formance of a duty without finding some comfort grow-
ing up under it?
456 THE PRISON ANGEL.
The gentleness and sweet obedience which marked
Katharine Allen's conduct in the prison, won many a
kind word and act from her keepers. Perhaps her
beauty had something to do with this ; but it was not
her beauty which made those rude men respect her in the
cells of that copper mine, as if she had been in the
chambers of a palace. It was not her beauty which
checked the curses on the convict's lips, or led them to.
some rude efforts of politeness as she passed in her
humble prison garb.
After awhile, Katharine began to see how wise and
good the Almighty had been in sending her to that
gloomy place ; how all unconsciously she had been led
to a great work through sorrows that prepared her for
it, step by step. If ever woman has a mission except
that of performing the duties which come naturally
before her day by day, and hour by hour, it is that of
nursing the sick, and comforting the afflicted. Women
were intended for the gentler works of humanity, and
who shall say that the great reformers of the earth can
surpass her in this mission of love, or find a channel in
all society through which her womanhood can be so
beautifully perfected ?
It is guilt which makes the convict repulsive ; attach
a firm conviction of innocence, or even repentance to the
prisoner and his coarse dress becomes picturesque, his
hard fare sublime. When I describe Katharine Allen
in prison she is lifted out of all real convict life, but
seems to me like an angel wandering through those dark
places, as one of old sought out and unlocked the dun-
geon of the apostle. Suffering had done a heavenly
work with this young creature. Certainly, she had
been unjustly punished, but had not this chain of events
THE PRISON ANGEL. 457
brought her into a field of great usefulness ! Of her
own accord would she ever have sought that place, or
descended that ladder ? Yet where on earth was there
a spot in which humanity suffered so much, or where
the influence of a good woman could so surely bring
comfort.
In her solitude, Katharine remembered many a wise
lesson and kindly precept that old Mr. Thrasher had
taught her when she was restive in her first imprison-
ment. It was wonderful how deeply the sayings of this
good old man had impressed her.
It was not long before Katharine was lifted out of the
deepest misery of her prison life and placed in the hos-
pital as head nurse of that most horrible place. The
unwholesome position of the prison, the dreary darkness
of its mines, and the damps that trickled down their
walls, engendered diseases of all kinds with frightful
rapidity, and that bleak hospital room was always full.
Those who know only of the common anguish of com-
fortably appointed sick chambers can have little idea
of the terrible duties which fell upon this young crea-
ture. Instead of prayers she heard little but raving
curses of the past and eager cries for release from that
awful life, which was worse, these poor wretches pro-
tested, over and over again, than any punishment which
could await their souls beyond the grave. Some would
jest desperately about the ways and means of this es-
cape ; laugh about the scant shrouds and pine boxes
in which they must set forth on the long journey.
Others bore their pain with stolid obstinacy, fearing to
die, but dreading to get well, for death gave them to
the grave, health back into those damp mines, which
was a living burial.
458 THE PRISON ANGEL.
With the sweet calm of one who finds an unexpected
duty to be performed, Katharine entered this place.
Her very presence had a holy effect upon the suffering
convicts. Cruelty only hardens sin, and in those days
moral kindness to a convict was almost considered an
offence against the law. Men were convicted to be
punished, not with any idea of reformation, and being
thrust utterly beyond the pale of mercy, grew desperate
and reviled one another when the evil spirit tortured
within them could find no other means of expression.
But the sweet goodness of this young woman, their
fellow-prisoner, softened all this. She comforted them
with her gentle ways ; soothed down the profane spirit
that gave out curses instead of groans, and dropped
softer feelings into those uneasy souls as Heaven gives
dew to weeds trampled along the dusty highway. She
never preached, never exhorted them, never forced the
prison Bible upon their rejection ; but the simple pro-
mises of Scripture fell like poetry from her lips, at times
when the hungry soul of some poor convict, not utterly
lost, seemed to crave comfort at her hands. Sometimes,
too, when a sick man, won by her goodness, would ask
where she found the beautiful words with which she was
striving to comfort him, Katharine would open the
Bible and read aloud to convince him of their reality.
Then some patient in the next cot would whisper her to
read louder, and when her silvery voice was lifted those
sick men would turn wearily on the hard pillows and
listen.
It is no great hardship to read or pray with the sick.
Many a dainty person can be found to perform such
duties punctiliously ; but to work for the sick, to watch
with them, wait on them, and with little means supply
THE PRISON ANGEL. 459
great wants — this is a noble work even for the patience
and endurance of a woman. This is charity in its per-
fect work, mingling prayers, kindness, and stern labor
in one beautiful phase of Christianity. This work
Katharine performed so well that the fiend which she
found brooding over the pillow of many a wretched fel-
low-creature, stole away under the sound of her corn-
fortings, and a pitying angel came in his place. This
was a work of slow growth, but alas ! Katharine had
plenty of time — eight long years.
You ask me if this young girl was unhappy in her
dreary life, and I answer no. Those who confer great
good on humanity by self-sacrifice, cannot be made
utterly miserable. To such hope never dies. No, I say
again, the slumber which Catharine found in her pauses
of rest was very sweet. At such times the dreary sound
of those water-drops trickling down the walls of her
prison, seemed like the bell-like murmurs of a fountain,
around which a baby child — one that always came in
her dreams — was hovering and waiting for her to finish
her work in that prison and see how beautiful the world
was beyond it.
I cannot pause now to give the details of her strange
life, or tell you how many touching events rose each
day to interest her best feelings. The prisoners, young
and old, began to look upon her with affection. Even
the women, whose hearts are not always easy of access
to a sister woman, received her little kindnesses, when
she found power to offer them, with something like grat-
itude. All this won upon the officers of the institution.
With her they began to enforce the discipline of the
prison less rigidly than they had ever done before ; em-
ployed her in lighter tasks ; gave their own needle-work
460 THE SWEATING OVEN.
to her deft fingers ; and frequently supplied her with
better food than was awarded to her fellow sufferers.
She received every favor with thankfulness, but took no
benefit to herself. The food which she appeared to carry
off and consume in private, went to the nourishing of
some poor invalid, whose grateful eyes thanked her and
told of gentler feelings growing up in his heart.
Thus, through her favor with the prison officers and
her influence with the convicts, this young woman won
for herself a power of good, which those terrible walls
had never witnessed since their foundation.
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE SWEATING OVEN.
DOWN in the depths of those prison mines many a
terrible scene took place at which humanity shuddered.
Once huddled under ground and sealed in with the
massive iron bars that crossed that small trap-door,
little care was needed for the safety of the prisoners.
So, like wild catt)e hustled into a pound, they were left
to their own vicious instincts, and those often led to
riot and revolt. Sometimes the terrible monotony of
this life was broken by a new gang of prisoners, who,
shocked and outraged in every manly feeling by the
degradation heaped upon them, fiercely resisted the
rules which levelled them below the common brutes of
the field, and, like wild animals just lassoed on the
prairies, turned fiercely upon their tormentors.
THE SWEATING OVEN. 461
Cases of horrible cruelty often occurred in the prison ;
Katharine knew of it only from the fierce noises that
echoed through her cell at night, and by the fright-
ened faces that passed before her during the next day.
It was enough to shock the most hardened human soul,
to know that any of those terrible means of punishment,
invented as the curse of our prisons, was in progress.
The very idea was enough to drive the blood from
Katharine's heart. But she was helpless — had not even
the power of protest — all she could do was to turn her
pitying eyes on the poor wretch when his sufferings
were over, and thus prove that compassion existed even
in that terrible place. Usually these scenes of punish-
ment ended in the hospital, then her sweet ministry
made itself deeply felt, and many a hard heart yielded
itself to her kindness which the most bitter correction
had failed to reach.
Something of this kind had just transpired in the
prison. A new convict had been sent in from the courts,
and his first resistance of the prison laws had been met
with unusual rigor. That night Katharine heard low
groans, but no cries followed the crack of the lash, which
fell so sharply and lasted so long that every nerve
in her body quivered and shrunk with that keen sym-
pathy which made the anguish of a fellow-creature her
own.
She arose in the morning literally sore at heart,
wounded with more tender anxiety than had ever
affected her before regarding the man who had borne
those awful lashes so bravely. Her duties for a time
lay under ground, where much of the prison work was
done. She went about them with a heavy heart. The
damp, the close atmosphere, and absence of all sunlight
462 THE SWEATING OVEN.
deepened the despondency that had seized upon her.
Tii these subterraneous vaults is a vast oven, in which
the prisoners' bread was baked, and here her duties for
the morning were appointed. A woman stood before
this oven casting wood into the red caverns of fire that
glowed behind the rolling smoke. The woman paused
with a huge stick of pitch pine half lifted to the oven,
and balancing it a moment in her hands, she cast it to
the earth, and sitting down upon it began to cry.
Katharine advanced that moment, and touched her on
the arm.
" I can't — I can't ! Whip me, if you like — put me in
with him, but I can't do it !"
The woman evidently thought it one of the keepers,
who had watched her rebellious movement. Katharine
bent over her.
" What is the matter, Jones ? It is only I. Can I
help you ?"
The woman looked up, relieved by the voice.
" No," she said, heavily. " It is the old story. You
heard the lash last night — it kept us all awake. It is a
new prisoner they are breaking in ; a handsome, fine
fellow ; but he stood them out like a lion, and now — "
The woman paused and looked toward the oven with
a sort of terror in her eyes.
" And now — oh ! Jane, is he dead ?" whispered Kath-
arine. " Did they kill him ?"
The woman pointed to a narrow door built close to
the mouth of the oven, and whispered —
" He is in there !"
Katharine recoiled.
" In there, and that fire raging so ; God have mercy
upon us ! it is death !"
THE SWEATING OVEN. 463
"No, not alwaj-s; not often, I think," answered the
woman ; " but I never did this work before. The sweat
oven has not been used in my time till now. It's
awful !"
A smothered moan, which rose above the roar and
crackle of the fire, curdled the very blood in Katharine's
veins.
" What is it ? What is the horrible thing they are
doing ?" she cried, wildly. " What is that place ?"
" You see the door — how narrow it is — a poor creature
can hardly push through. Inside, it is just as narrow ;
stone walls pressing close up against the wretch, heated
from the oven hot as life can bear."
"Oh, my God, my God, is this thing true?" cried
Katharine, cowering down, and covering her face with
both hands.
"I wont heap on the wood," cried the woman, bit-
terly. " They haven't the power to make me."
" Hush, hush; some one is coming."
It was a keeper to whom the terrible punishment had
been entrusted. Katharine rose slowly, to her feet and
stood before him, her hands clasped, and the pale anguish
of her face revealed by the fire light, which illuminated
the darkness all around them.
"What are you women talking about ? Go to your
work, Katharine Allen."
She could not speak, but fell upon her knees, beseech-
ing him with those wild eyes.
"What is all this about?" said the man, softening his
voice.
" She wants you to let that poor man out — that's it,"
answered the woman, resting both elbows on her knees,
and looking up from her seat on the wood. " She
464 THE SWEATING OVEN.
knows it aint human to treat any of God's creatures in
this way, and wants to tell you so, only them groans
has frightened the soul out of her body."
The man looked down at the 3roung creature kneeling
at his feet, and a shade of sympathy swept over his
face.
" Get up," he said, almost kindly. " I have just come
to see about him. This sort of thing don't gibe with
my feelings more than it does with yours, but the fellow
was obstinate as a mule — wanted a little of the proud
blood sweated out of him, and I reckon he's got enough
of it by this time."
" Oh, be quick, be quick, or he may die !" cried Katha-
rine, gaming her voice. " How faint the moans are !
Open the door! open the door! — hear how his poor
hands beat against it !"
" Well, go away — this is no place for you. Run to
the well, and have some water dipped up ready. They
always make a dive for that first."
Katharine sprang to her feet, and darting across the
space illuminated by the oven, made her way toward
the well, which gushed out pure and crystalline in the
depths of the mine, the only untainted thing in those
subterranean regions. An iron lamp swung in the walls
of the cavern near this outgush of pure water, which
turned all the wavelets it touched to gold.
This was the spot to which the prisoners came when
athirst, like cattle to a spring ; and to this place, as the
keeper truly said, the man who had suffered from the
flames of that hot oven would surely come.
Katharine took an iron dipper, which was chained to
the stones of the well, and filling it with water, held it
till the weight bore down her hand, then she filled it once
THE SWEATING OVEN. 465
more from the centre of the well, and again held it
ready. This time she had not long to wait, for she saw
a human figure coming through the darkness with des-
perate effort, but slow progress — making futile attempts
at speed, and giving broken leaps that brought him
reeling and staggering every instant against the sides
of the cavern.
Katharine poured out the water, and dipped it up
afresh, as if that little effort could make it cooler. Stie
would have gone forward to meet the man, but the chain
would not permit it, and thus she stood waiting till he
came up. He saw the vessel in her hand, dripping over
with a rain of cool drops, and seizing upon it before
she could look up, drained it off in wild, greedy haste.
"More! more!" he cried, dropping the dipper, and
sweeping the perspiration from his face. " More ! more I"
Katharine plunged the dipper into the well again.
He would have snatched it from her but she lifted it
to his lips. In this position the lamp-light fell upon
her face. She dropped the iron vessel from between her
two hands, as he fell forward with his face to the earth.
She did not breathe — for her life she could not have
uttered a sound — but dropping on her knees beside the
prostrate man, she lifted his head from the earth. The
light lay full upon his face. His eyes looked piteously
into hers. She drew him up to her bosom ; with the
folds of her prison dress she wiped the rain of perspi-
ration from his forehead and left tender kisses in its
place ; soft words came to her lips, tears swelled into
her eyes ; she had but one thought — holy thanksgiving
to Heaven.
Directly the keeper came up, wondering that his vic-
tim should remain so long at the well.
29
466 THE SWEATING OVEN.
" Halloo !" he said, "what is this ? I thought you were
half dead, my fine fellow !"
Katharine looked up ; her face was radiant, and yet
a tender pity beamed there.
" Hush !" she said ; " he is my husband."
The keeper gave a prolonged whistle that echoed
mournfully through the caverns, but Katharine repeated :
" Yes, it is my husband."
Thrasher did not speak, but she felt him trembling in
her arms ; his head rested more heavily on her bosom ;
he scarcely breathed.
The keeper felt some gleams of sympathy swelling in
his bosom. "With him Katharine had always been a
favorite. He took compassion on her now.
" Poor fellow ! he has had a tough job of it," he said ;
"weak as a kitten — why, see how he trembles ; I'll just
go to the warden and have him sent lip to the hospital,
where you can tend him till he picks up again."
Katharine smiled gratefulty, and they were left alone,
the woman and her husband. She bent down and kissed
him.
" Nelson, my husband, speak one word — say that you
know me."
He whispered hoarsely, " Yes, Katharine, I know
you."
" And love me yet ?"
The proud man was shorn of his strength, and burst
into tears. When the keeper returned, her hand was
locked in that of her husband. He was talking to her
in a feeble voice, broken with grief; telling her things
which made even that dark place still darker — of his
unfaithfulness and its stern retribution. His heart was
broken up, he kept nothing back. His crimes were
THE SWEATING OVEN. 467
great, but the record was given in few words, saddening
the poor wife, who had been so happy a moment
before, in spite of her bonds. She heard him through,
wondering that so much of joy should lie underneath
these facts, and whispering to herself: " He will be here
seven years, and I with him. Oh, how much can be
done in seven years !"
The keeper had compassion on them ; he led Thrasher
away to that portion of the prison devoted to the sick,
and there the heaven of Katharine's convict life grew
bright, for she saw the path of her duty clear, and knew,
in her soul, that a holy work lay in her hands, a work
of comfort and regeneration, which should lead her
husband into the sunlight again.
She forgave him from the depths of her own pure
heart ; she forgave him all the wrong he had done, and
all ^he hopes he had destroyed. Her care, her gentle-
ness, and the holy faith that pervaded her words and
acts, had its effect on this iron-hearted man. I cannot
describe that which is beyond words, or tell how this
gentle martyr reached the stern man's heart ; but it
softened day by day under her patient tending, and
when he went back to the dreary duties of those prison •
mines, it was with a changed aspect. She had taught
him, not only how beautiful a thing human love is, but
through that most sacred of earthly feelings, led him
to the holy source of all love, all honor, all the glory
of life.
And so, as the years of their imprisonment wore on,
these two people bore their fate with something better
than mere resignation. They were content to work out
the duties before them, feeling it recompense enough if
they could smile on each other in passing down to their
468 UNDER THE APPLE TREE.
places of rest, or exchange a word of comfort and en-
couragement now and then by the well, where they had
first met.
Do not pity these people overmuch; where true love
and faith exists, there is little need of compassion. Out
of the depths of his penitence sprang up that perfect love
which makes a heaven of any place. As for Katharine,
was not her prison life made bright and beautiful. What
was seven years of toil, hunger, and thirst to her if it
redeemed the husband who had been lost ?
CHAPTER LXXII.
UNDER THE APPLE TREE.
YEARS had passed — seven long years — and in that
time many a pleasant change had taken place around
the minister's dwelling. Little twigs of rose bushes
had grown into blossoming thickets ; the big apple tree
in the meadow had dry spray among its branches, like
gray hairs on the head of a strong man ; tiny honey-
suckle shoots had spread into luxuriant vines ; a row of
red cherry trees along the fence was beginning to glow
with fruit in season. Every thing inside and out of the
minister's dwelling had prospered. He had scarcely
grown a day older in his own person. Indeed, with his
home comforts so cared for, and his wardrobe in order,
he seemed a younger man than we found him, when,
standing between the two deacons, counselling about
the meadow lot, which now bloomed Eden-like around
him.
UNDER THE APPLE TREE. 469
As for the minister's wife, she had never looked so
young, and it seemed impossible that she should ever
grow old ; a few almost imperceptible wrinkles marked
the corners of her prim little mouth, but that was all.
Still, youth knows rapid changes, and other things
than honeysuckles and roses had bloomed into perfec-
tion at the parsonage. There was a lovely girl sitting
under the apple tree, not gathering fruit or blossoms, as
of old, but busy with her crochet needle and a ball of
crimson worsted, that would keep rolling from her lap
into the grass in the most provoking manner. By her
side, half lying on the ground, was a youth, the most
splendid specimen of early manhood you ever saw, look-
ing at her as she worked, with an expression in those
dark eyes which could only have sprung from the one
great passion of life.
*As Rose worked, a smile dimpled the fresh mouth,
and she glanced sideways at Paul from under those
long, brown lashes, coquetting with him in her innocent
way, but with a grace that was enough to bring the
youth's heart into his eyes. Jube was at work in the
garden at a distance, singing to himself, and pausing
now and then to regard the scene going on under the
apple tree.
This was what was passing between the young people.
Rose paused a moment with her crochet hook in a half-
looped stitch, and the smile trembled on her sweet
mouth. Paul had asked a question, expressed a thou-
sand times before, but never with that intonation and
significance.
" Rose, do you love me ?"
Now the bloom of roses mounted to her forehead, and
swept down the snow of her neck ! Paul saw it, and
470 UNDER THE APPLE TREE.
blushed also — the lashes drooped over those great vel-
vety eyes, and a strange thrill, too sweet for pain, too
new for entire pleasure, ran through his whole system.
"Rose, do you love me?"
As I have said, she had answered that question a
thousand times before, but now it took away her voice.
She bent her head and commenced her work again,
looping up the worsted with desperate haste.
" Why don't you speak, Rose ?"
" I don't know what to say," she replied, trembling
all over.
" Don't know what to say !" repeated Paul, sitting
upright, and turning his startled eyes full upon her.
" I ask if you love me, and — oh, Rose, is there a doubt ?"
Rose shook her head and bent over her work.
"If I ask this now," said Paul, very earnestly, "it is
because I wish to be certain that — that — oh, Rose, -why
can't you answer me ?"
" I have answered, Paul."
" But you turn away. You will not look at me."
" Yes — see, I do."
His face brightened all over ; taking her hand, which
he tangled up in the crimson thread in his impetuosity,
he pressed it to his lips.
"I am going away, Rose."
" Going away — oh, Paul !"
" Yes ; don't turn so white. I shall come back again
in a few months — it is not so far off."
"Where, where?"
She could not complete the sentence, her tears rose
so quick and fast.
" I am going back to my old home, Rose, in St. Do-
mingo. My father was a rich man there — one of the
UNDER THE APPLE TREE. 471
first and highest in the island. I can remember that
without help, but Jube has told me more than this. He
and his brothers, a large family, were all killed in that
awful massacre. They had great riches in gold and
jewels. I saw piles and piles of gold brought into my
father's house that last week, and heard those gentle-
men, my father and his brothers, pledge themselves to
defend it each for the other, so long as one of them
should live. This compact was not written, but en-
graved on a brick of gold, that it might be permanent,
and carry its own record wherever the treasures went.
I was a boy, and too young for a trust of so much mag-
nitude. Where these treasures were put I never knew.
My uncles were all killed. My father, my mother — oh,
Rose, you know about that. I alone was left of the
family. Jube, dear old Jube yonder, is all the servant
of our great household. My mother entrusted him with
her jewels. They fell into the hands of Captain
Thrasher."
Rose uttered a faint cry, and covered her face to hide
its shame.
"Don't, Rose, don't," said Paul ; " I am not blaming
any one. Only telling you how it happened that Jube
and I became so poor. There was some gold with the
jewels, and that Rice made Thrasher give up. It has
supported us ever since, for Rice traded with it, and
kept it growing, good fellow. But that is very little,
Rose. It kept us from being a burden here, but what
would it amount to when — when — "
" When what, Paul ?"
"When you and I are married, Rose."
The young girl drew a quick breath. The crochet
hook fell from her hand — her arms, neck and face were
bathed in blushes.
472 UNDER THE APPLE TEES.
" Have you never thought of this, Rose ?" said Paul,
tenderly.
" I don't— don't know, Paul."
" But you will think of it ?"
"Yes — yes."
" All the while I am gone ?"
" Gone !" The tears that had been trembling in her
eyes dropped to the roses on her cheek. He saw her
grief and exulted in it.
" Jube knows where those treasures were buried. It
was a safe place, deep in the vaults under my father's
house. The negroes would never search there. Jube
will go with me ; we shall find all this gold, and then,
Rose, then — "
She looked up, piteously.
"I don't care for gold ; I hate jewels; from that day
I have hated them. Don't go, Paul ; I shall die before
you come back."
" But we must live. When your father comes from
the Indies, I cannot ask for his daughter without some
way of earning or giving her bread. Those treasures
belong to me. I am the last heir of our house. It is
for your sake I shall search for them."
" No, no ; I am afraid. There may be another ship-
wreck," cried the young girl, wringing her hands.
" Hush, hush, Rose ! Jube is looking this way ; the
old fellow will wonder what we are talking about."
" But — but you wont go, Paul ? It is too cruel."
"Not till you consent. You are my queen now,
Rose, and shall keep or send me as you like."
She brightened with a sudden thought.
" Wait till father comes," she said, dashing her tears
right and left with those white hands, "and then we
UNDER THE APPLE TREE. 473
can all go together — tliat is, if father has not money
enough of his own."
Paul pressed her hand again gratefully, as if she had
indeed reigned his queen, and once more they sunk into
the old attitude, save that she did not pretend to work,
and Paul no longer vailed the joy in his eyes.
They did not hear the rattle of wheels, or know that
a wagon had stopped at the parsonage ; thus when Jube
came hurriedly from his work in the garden, with intel-
ligence in his face, Rose received him with a pretty
pout, and Paul inquired rather sharply what he wanted
coming upon them in that rude way.
Poor Jube was quite taken aback. Never in his
whole life had he been so received by the young people ;
the joyful words were driven from his lips, and he stood
mutely gazing at them like a Newfoundland dog re-
buked for too much spirit.
" What did you want ?" inquired Paul, self-rebuked
and softened.
" Why, nothing, master, only Tom has just got out
of the wagon and is coming this way."
" Tom ! What— Tom Hutchins ?"
"Yes, master ; that 'shim coming through the kitchen
door."
Rose started up all in commotion. The idea of
meeting her rustic boy lover just then filled her with
dismay. But there was no escape. He was half across
the meadow, making directly for the apple tree. A fine,
powerful young fellow he certainly was — broad-chested
and stout of limb — but there was the same frank face,
the same freckles on the cheeks, the same laughing blue
eyes. He came up a little awkwardly, not exactly
knowing how to use his arms in walking, and halted
474: OUT OF A SCKAPE.
a few yards from Rose in blank astonishment at her
beauty. She Trent toward him at once holding out her
hands.
CHAPTER LXXIII.
OUT OF A SCRAPE.
" MR. HUTCHINS, I am so glad to see you!"
He took her outstretched hands and pressed them
together between his two hard palms.
"Jest as sweet as ever; and oh, lots handsomer !" he
said, with awkward gallantry.
" This is Paul," said Rose, embarrassed by his rough
compliment. " He has not forgotten yon."
" Xor I him, by a long shot," answered Tom, with
energy. " How are you, old fellow ? Know how to
speak English, hey ?"
Paul laughed, and lost his slender hand in Tom's
grasp.
" I've got a little business with you, by-and-bjV said
Tom ; " something terrible mysterious ; and nothing
would do but I must come right across from Siinsbury
and bring it myself. You guess, I reckon, what took
me out there ?"
" To see her ?" inquired Paul, in a low voice.
"Yes, nothing else. The old people are getting
infirm, and can't travel no more. That trial kinder did
them up for going journeys, yet they aint content with-
out hearing all about her every few months. So this
time I went up. Had a little chore of my own in that
OUT OF A SCRAPE. 475
'ere region, and wasn't backward to go ; besides, I raly
du feel sorry for them old folks. Not one word have
they heard from Nelse Thrasher yet — think he's lost at
sea, and that has nigh about broke their hearts. They
are getting old now, I tell you."
" And you have been to see Katharine — that was very
kind, Tom. If ever a good woman lived, she is one.
How did you find her ?"
" Handsomer than ever. I swan to man ! she looked
like an angel just come down, for all that linsey-woolsey
dress. She's soft and still as a dove in brooding-time
— never complains — never sheds no tears, but goes
about like — like — oh, it aint of the least use trying to
give you any idea of it."
" But her time is nearly up ; she'll be coming out
soon."
"Not jest to the day, I reckon. She told me not to
let them send arter her, for she'd got a duty beyond her
freedom day, and must wait till some one else was set
free ; then she would start for home, and stay with the
old people all her life."
" It is like her, poor soul," said Paul, with deep feel-
ing ; " but who is the person for whose liberation she is
waiting ?"
"Jest step this way a minute, and I'll tell you."
Paul stepped aside, and walked reluctantly away from
Hose.
" Look-a-here — she didn't tell me nothing, only in her
sweet way asked me not to give the old folks any news
that would trouble them, as if she kinder thought I
knew ; but if I didn't see Nelse Thrasher in that 'ere
prison, that fellow has got a twin brother that's been
tried and convicted."
476 OUT OF A SCRAPE.
Paul started. Had Thrasher indeed been punished ?
Was he now atoning his crime in prison ? A moment's
thought, and he understood it all. The generous privacy
with which the trial had been kept, that disgrace need
not reach Rose or her mother. He remembered now
that soon after Mason's visit, the minister and his wife
had been absent at the county town several days, and
no one could tell why. How well the secret had been
kept!
" We must not mention this before Rose," he said,
thoughtfully.
" Nor the old people neither," replied Tom. " In this
case the least said is soonest mended ; but it was him,
no mistake about that. To own up, he gin me this letter
with his own hands, and a little heap of shiney stones
that he dug out from the wall of his cell, where they'd
been hid ever since he went to the prison. Katharine
told him he could trust me, and he did ; but you never
seen a feller so altered — he's grown steady and sober-
looking, and has a soft, kind way of speaking that
makes your heart rise up to meet him. I never did see
any thing like it. He's learned to smile, and it does
you good to see it. I raly believe he'll live to be a
comfort to them old people at last — that is when his
time is up."
" I hope so," answered Paul, thoughtfully ; " but you
had a letter — is it for Rose ?"
"No; for you."
"Forme."
" Yes — do you know that the chap raly thought that
you was dead and drowned in the salt sea, till a little
while ago, when Katharine happened to tell him about
your coming up to Bungy with Jube, and how you
OUT OF A SCRAPE. 477
tried to help her, poor young critter. You remember
that night?"
"Yes, I shall never forget it,"
" Well, it seems he was thankful to know that you
hadn't gone down with the wreck — you and the nigger ;
and he's been a trying to get this 'ere letter to you by
safe hands ever since, but couldn't light on a downright
honest chap till now."
Paul reached forth his hand to receive the letter,
thinking, in his kind heart, " Poor man ! he was cruel
to me, and repents of it. I am glad for his own sake."
With these thoughts he broke the seal and began to
read :
" Paul De Varney, I have wronged you, and would
make restitution so far as human will can atone for
crime. You are, / know, the only living heir of that
proud old house which the Revolution destroyed. The
treasures which were concealed by the males of your
family, in a solemn compact, and buried in the vaults
of your father's house, are in this country. I brought
them in the vessel which Captain Mason had commanded
from Port au Prince, removed them safely from the
Floyd when she was abandoned, and the great bulk of
them has never passed from my hands. In the vicinity
of ISTew York is a large mansion house, purchased some
years ago by a Mr. Xelson. If you ask for this man
Xelson, they will tell you that he is of unsound mind,
and has been safely housed for years in an insane asy-
lum. But this is the truth — I, Nelson Thrasher, am the
man to whom that house belonged. In the depths of a
secret vault, which you will find under the south
wing, I have concealed the treasures which ^are yours.
There is a room in that wing, furnished as a gentleman's
study, the floor is a mosaic of colored marble.
478 OUT OF A SCRAPE.
" I send you a drawing of the design. The centre
ornament, marked A, will yield if you touch the fourth
curve of the arabasque pattern. YouvSescend into a
wine vault ; the rack of bottles swings on hinges. Behind
it; five feet from the corner, each way, is a slab of
granite cemented into the wall ; remove that, and lying
in the entrance of a small inner vault you will find a
Gold Brick, upon which the males of your house have
engraved their compact, their names, and those of their
descendants. All are dead except yourself. The trea-
sure is yours. How I became possessed of it, the
amount expended, and a solemn renunciation, you will
find rudely cut on the lower side of the brick. Take
possession of this wealth ; no one will dare to question
your right. All that I have in possession, and all that
I can restore, is herewith forwarded. If you can only
feel the joy in receiving this wealth that I do in casting
it from me, the day that you read this will be a happy
one, the first that ever resulted from this hoarded gold.
"J^ELSON THRASHER."
Paul read the letter over and over again. The con-
tents seemed unreal ; but for the clear description of
the Gold Brick he would not have given it credence.
But he remembered that well. The night when the
seething metal had been poured into its mould, every
member of the family had been summoned to stand by.
The scene rose vividly before him. The red heat of the
furnace glaring on the vault, the piles of gold throwing
back its light, that group of aristocratic men stooping
one after another to engrave a name on the dead gold
of the brick, till he, the youngest and the last was
called upon to take the graver in his young hand, and
OUT OF A SCRAPE. 479
Tinder his father's direction, record his name on the
golden record.
Paul had not understood the danger which prompted
his kinsmen to gather up their treasures and make this
singular record on the brick, but the storm came upon
them at once.
In a single week that whole household had been swept
away — father, mother, home. Is it wonderful that the
young man grew pale, and shuddered, when Thrasher's
letter reminded him of these things ?
Paul had no heart to return to Hose. For the mo-
ment he thought of nothing but that terrible scene which
had left him an orphan. He walked slowly away, and
entering the house, sought the minister's study.
Tom Hutchins went back to the spot where Rose was
standing.
" Miss Rose," he said, shuffling his feet in the grass,
" you remember when I gave you a string of robins'
eggs, and what I said about 'em ?"
"Yes," answered Rose, blushing quietly, for the poor
string of eggs had been smashed to atoms in a romping
chase with Jube years ago.
" Yes, Mr. Hutchins — I — I hope you don't want them
back again."
Tom looked rather crestfallen, colored violently, and
relieved his right foot by standing heavily on the left.
" No, Miss Rose," he burst out at length, " I aint go-
ing to ask for 'em back, but — but the truth is, I was a
scamp for giving you them 'ere eggs ; not at the time,
you know, but arterwards, when I kinder forgot you and
took a shine to another gal. There, now, it's out, and I
suppose you'll just hate and despise me ...for a mean
heart-breaker all the rest of your life. But I could not
480 OUT OF A SCRAPE.
help it, consarn me if I could. If the gal hadn't looked
kinder like you, in the way of curls, and been a match
for the best on 'em, I never should have gin in ; but it's
done, and can't be undone, without you insist on hold-
ing me to that bargain when I give the eggs. If you
do, why speak out, and I'm ready to stand up to the
rack, fodder or no fodder."
Eose did not laugh, but her eyes were brimful of fun,
and her lips dimpled threateningly.
" Don't — don't cry ; it 'ud break my heart. I aint
downright engaged, nor nothing, and I waited to see if
you'd give me up afore that — but — but if you'd just as
lives, ' thar is as good fish in the sea as ever come out,'
you know; still, as I said, if you didn't seem to mind it,
j j »
Rose shook with the rush of laughter that was forbid-
den to her lips, but she felt a sort of respect for the
honest purpose which had brought the youth to her
presence, and answered him with gentle kindness :
" Have no trouble about me, Mr. Hutchins — we were
only children then."
" True enough — so we were."
"You were very kind to us, and I can never for-
get it."
"Oh, don't — don't, Miss Hose — you make me feel
what a scoundrel I was ever to think of anybody else."
" Ah, but it was impossible to help it."
" Do you think so now — really ?"
"Indeed I do."
"And you wont hate me ?"
" Not at all."
" Nor thi^k me fickle ?"
" Oh, children are always fickle ; but we meet as
THE LONELY HOUSE. 481
grown people, now, and there will be no more change.
You are content, and so am I."
" In downright arnest ?"
" In downright earnest."
" Miss Rose."
"Well."
" If I was not over head and heels in love — well, it's
no use talking ; but there aint your match this side
creation, except her."
CHAPTER LXXIV.
THE LONELY HOUSE.
THAT noble mansion had changed greatly. The beauty
of its grounds was all run to waste. The snowy walls
of the house were tinged with the damp of many winters,
which no careful hand had swept away. Rose thickets
had grown into jungles. The honeysuckles and clematis
vines had leaped from the windows and clambered rudely
up the forest trees. Long grass waved along the car-
riage walks and tufted the gravel. That delicate moss,
which seems like the first green breath of decay, was
creeping over the broad marble steps, and clothing the
stone vases with gloomy richness.
It was very lonely and quiet, that dreary mansion, a
mournful contrast to its appearance on the night we
saw it last, in pristine freshness, blazing with lights,
resonant with music, and all aglow with flowers.
ftur persons, who stood in the wilderness which had
30
482 THE LONELY HOUSE.
grown around it, felt this desolation with infinite mel-
ancholy.
" "Was this my mother's house ?" whispered Rose Ma-
son, sadly. " Oh ! Paul, where is she now ? Not one
word from her in all these years."
"Hush, my child," said the minister; "it may have
been that trouble has fallen upon her so heavily that,
like a poor worried deer, she has crept away to hide
her wounds."
"My poor, poor mother," whispered Rose ; "but for
that man, how happy we might all be now."
"Be patient, my child, be patient."
" How can I be patient, knowing that she lives — at
least, feeling the mournful hope — and yet with no cer-
tainty ? How can I be patient, when my father is away
where I cannot see him, wandering from country to
country, trying to forget his wrongs — trying, in vain, to
forget her ?"
The minister looked troubled. This rebellion in his
spoiled pet, wounded him like a reproach. He felt how
deep were her causes for regret, and left the anguish to
exhaust itself.
" There must be some one at the house who will know
where she is living. The mansion is evidently inhabited.
Let us go forward and inquire. We are legally author-
ized to enter," said Paul.
" Yes," rejoined the minister, looking at a strange
man who was walking down the carriage street with
Jube, " here comes our authority ; but let us use it with
delicacy ; soft words are better than warrants ; by them
our Rose may gain some knowledge of her mother."
The group moved forward ; that is, Paul, the minister,
and Rose, leaving the stranger and Jube in the groumls.
THE LONELY HOUSE. 483
The broad steps had a disused look, as if foot-prints
wez-e seldom left upon them ; the huge knocker was dim,
and grated harshly as the minister lifted it. When it
fell, the noise struck them with a shock, its reverbera-
tions sounded so startling. It was a long time before
any one came to the door ; but at last it opened, and an
ill-dressed, unshaven man looked out with unwelcoming
eyes.
" Do you want any thing?" he said, curtly; "nobody
comes to this door. We never see company."
" But we wish to enter the house, and have business
which cannot be put off," said Paul.
" Who is it you want to see ?"
"Any one who has authority to admit us to an exam-
ination of one of the rooms."
" There is no such person here."
The answer was brusque enough, like that which the
keeper of a prison gives to troublesome visitors.
" Let us see your master, if you please," said the
minister, blandly.
" I have no master 1"
"Nor mistress?"
" No, nor mistress. I am her master !"
Rose started, and looked mournfully at Paul.
" What is the lady's name ?" she inquired.
" She has fifty names. To-day I believe she is the
Empress of Russia."
" But she has a name ?"
" Not for strangers. If you have any business here
but to ask questions let me hear what it is ; no one else
will get a say in the matter, I can tell you."
Paul beckoned to the man who lingered in the shrub-
bery. He came up and held a few words of conversation
484 THE LONELY HOUSE.
with the servant, who seemed greatly disturbed, and at
once attempted to close the door forcibly. The officer
opposed him, and, placing a paper in his hands, bade
him make way.
He read the paper with a bewildered look, which
changed to something like consternation in the end.
He flung the door wide open, and, retreating down the
entrance-hall, unlocked a door which led to the south
wing.
" You will find the office in yonder," he said, pointing
through the door. " I don't know what condition it is
in, for no one has entered it, that I know of, for years."
The party passed in, all except Rose, who remained
to question the man. But her distress was so great
that it took away her voice.
" Well, what is it you want ?" he asked, with a tone
of kindness, for the agitation in her lovely face impressed
even him.
" Tell me her name. The lady of the house, I mean."
"And what good if I do ? She's nobody now — that
is to any one but us. What on earth is her name" to
you?"
" I think — I fear — ah, sir, she may be my own mother."
" What is your name ?"
"Mason."
" That is not her name, anyhow ; but the other
name — is it Rose?"
" Yes, yes — Rose 1"
" Not Rose Nelson ?"
"No, no!"
" It's of no use then : she's nothing to yon."
" Oh, if you would but let me speak with her ! only
look on her face !" pleaded the poor girl, wild with the
hopes his questions had raised.
THE LONELY HOUSE.
" I could not do it. It is against the doctor's orders.
Company is worse than any thing."
" Is she ill ?"
He now looked on her with contemptuous astonish-
ment.
" You call yourself her daughter, and don't know
that?"
" Oh, sir, this is cruel ! I have not had a letter or
heard from her in nearly seven years ! I never knew
that this had been her home till within a week ; and now
you will not let me even look at her !"
The poor girl began to sob and wring her hands.
The idea that she was so close by her mother, whom she
was forbidden to look upon, overwhelmed her with
anguish.
The man seemed touched. "Wait a moment," he
said, " I will talk with Mrs. Brown about it. I command
the house, but she has charge of the lady."
After this concession, the man went away, leaving
Rose seated upon one of the hall chairs, breathless and
anxious, for every moment convinced her more and
more that she was in the house with her mother.
The man was absent some time. Suspense became
intolerable to that young heart. She arose and walked
the hall, but the noise of her own footsteps became
irksome, as it prevented her listening to the first sound
of his approach. She stood still and held her breath.
Would he never return? What if he had seemed to
relent only to escape her importunity? She started.
Yes, yes — there was a sound — a footstep — lighter than
his, though — a woman's footstep, accompanied with the
rustle of silk and a perfume that penetrated pleasantly
to her senses, a perfume that she recognized, and grew
faint from the consciousness.
THE MANIAC'S TOILET.
Trembling in all her limbs, she stood still, with her
eyes penetrating the distance. There was a perpetual
twilight in that house. The blinds were all closed, and
in some places heavy shutters made the darkness com-
plete. Thus the figure which advanced upon Rose,
from what seemed a large drawing-room, moved vaguely
through the dusk of the dwelling. It was a lady in
full dress, sweeping through the rooms in quick haste,
and huddling something to her bosom.
CHAPTER LXXV.
THE MANIAC'S TOILET.
ROSE MASON caught her breath. It was her mother.
She knew the face, and that proud, sweeping walk.
Wild as the face was — rapid as the walk had become —
she could not mistake them.
The woman saw her standing in the hall, and came
eagerly forward.
" I have found them — I have found them," she cried,
breathlessly. " What is an empress without her jewels ?
They don't understand these things — but you, my maid
of honor, know better. They told me that you and all
the court would keep away. That was to persuade me
from wearing these ; but I have got them safe — come,
come, we must make haste, or force the people to wait,
which should never be. My hair is to be braided yet —
come this way — this way."
Rose followed her, pale as death, heart-stricken from
THE MANIAC'S TOILET. 487
that moment. The woman entered the little breakfast
room, where we have seen her before. It was not much
changed ; the sumptuous appointments had faded some-
what by time, but they retained all their elegance. In
spite of her agitation, "Rose remarked that behind the
rich window draperies were immovable blinds of iron,
deceptive, but firm as prison bars. Through the lattices
of these blinds, sufficient light came to fill the room, and
now Rose saw her mother clearly. Alas ! the change !
That beautiful face was worn and troubled ; the splendid
eyes were full of eager fire ; the mouth was always in
motion ; and the whole aspect vigilant, as if her fears
Avere eternally upon the watch.
" Come," she said, throwing herself into an easy chair,
and arranging the folds of a purple brocade dress, with
an exaggeration of her old, queenly grace, after she had
placed the heavy bronze box, which she had carried, on
an ottoman by her side, " come, put them on quick, be-
fore they break up my toilet — go to work — go to work."
With eager wildness, she snatched the comb from her
hair and shook its long tresses over her shoulders.
Rose saw that there was scarcely a dark thread in the
mass, and her eyes filled with tears.
" What are you crying for ?" asked her mother, sharply.
" It is only powdered pearls that my people dust over
my hair morning and night ! Cleopatra, she was queen
of Egypt, you know, and beautiful as I am — she drank
her pearls in vinegar ; I grind mine ! Now braid away 1
braid away!"
Rose took the heavy tresses which the woman tossed
into her hands, and, for a moment, her trembling fingers
wandered among them, in vague efforts at obedience,
but all at once her strength gave way, and dropping
into a chair, she burst into a passion of tears.
488 THE MANIAC'S TOILET.
Her mother started up fiercely, coiled the hair around
her head in a rude crown, and dashed the lid of the
bronze box open. Rose knew the gleam of those jewels,
and shuddered. The woman tore the diamonds from
their satin cushions, and began U> huddle them in masses
upon her arms and bosom. She then proceeded to
tangle them in her gray hair, looking at her daughter
with fierce reproach all the time.
Rose made a motion to arise — her mother saw it, and
shut the box suddenly.
" Don't touch them ! don't dare to touch them ! Do
you know how much they cost?"
The young girl retreated, pale and trembling.
" I bought them," cried the mother, in a hoarse whis-
per, " with my soul and body — soul and body ! Under-
stand that ! But the fiend cheated me, and kept back
the price ! — treasures ! gold ! gold ! gold ! He hid it 1
but I kept these 1 They were the first price ! It was
putting them here where my little Rose used to sleep !
and here where they burn like hot coals — that brought
Mason back with those eyes "
The woman laid a hand upon her bosom, and swept it
across her forehead as she spoke, while poor Rose began
to weep bitterly, as she heard her own sweet name ut-
tered, for the first time in years, by those insane lips.
" Xo wonder you cry," said the woman. " It's enough
to break one's heart ! Loads and loads of money hid
away, and no finding it ! I've searched, and searched,
and searched ; but it's of no use ! They lock the door
and chain the windows ; but there is a place !"
She paused, drew close to Rose, and bending downr
whispered in her ear :
" The south wing ; he was always there ; always
brooding over something in that room with one door
THE MANIAC'S TOILET. 489
and iron shutters. Once I saw a hole in the floor — an
open half-moon — -just under my feet. It closed up, and
I forgot it till Mason came, and they began to lock the
doors ; then I thought and thought, such fiery hot
thoughts, and up came that open half-moon from the
marble floor! Oh, if I could but get there! Say,
couldn't you draw the bolts? They hurt my hands!
they hurt my hands 1"
j . The poor creature shook her head, and wrung her
hands, with tears and moans, piteous to hear.
Rose took the poor struggling hands in hers.
"Oh, mother! mother!" she cried out.
The woman stopped wringing her hands, and bent her
wild eyes on the young girl's face.
" Rose had sweet eyes — my little Rose. She was so
pretty — handsome almost as her mother. But what is
the use of beauty if it cannot bring gold from its hiding-
places ? I like that face ; there are emeralds and sapphires
in the box. Besides, I have lovely pink coral that the
queen of Naples gave me on my coronation. You shall
wear them sometimes, for I love you for looking like
little Rose. There, you may kiss my hand."
Rose took the hand, on which she pressed her quiv-
ering lips.
" Don't be afraid of me — imperial women are alwaj^s
gracious. You shall stay at the court. Only one thing I
must tell you. That woman, Brown, shall be exiled to
Siberia — that is where I get the ermine for my mantles,
you know ; but cold, oh, so cold ! Good enough for her,
though. Come close and I will tell you something.
She ties my arms — she straps me down in bed — the false
traitoress ! But she shall go, and I will give you her
place. Only don't speak loud, she might hear us. Hush
—hush— hist !"
4:90 THE MANIAC'S TOILET.
A slight noise broke the stillness of the house, and
hushed the maniac's whispers. Putting a finger to her
lips she moved into the hall on tiptoe. The door lead-
ing to the sonth wing was open. With a cry that
brought an echo of affright from her child, she darted
through and rushed toward the room where Thrasher
had been confined that night — her garments fluttering
wildly, and the jewels with their innumerable pendants
tinkling against each other in her hair and on her
bosom.
Rose followed, striving to cry out, but terror deprived
her of the power.
The room was dark, for the bolts of those shutters
had rusted in their sockets — dark, except a circle of red
light that lay like a fiery wheel in the centre of the
room. Ellen Mason rushed toward this opening, and
swooping down upon her knees, like an evil-omened bird
greedy for prey, looked down into the vault beneath.
She saw the glitter of gold heaped on the stone floor,
with a blaze of lamp light pouring over it. Heard the
clink as it was drawn from the inner vault. She saw
several persons busy with the gold piling it in heaps.
The most prominent figure was a young man with jet
black hair and eyes full of trouble, examining a block
of gold which lay on the top of that glittering heap.
With a shriek from which the words, " It is mine — •
mine — all mine !" broke fiercely out, the woman half
rose, flung out her arms, and made a plunge. Rose
Mason came up that instant and grasped desperately at
her dress. A fragment of the old brocade was left in
her hand — a low, dull sound, a simultaneous shriek
of dismay from the people in the vault, and all was still
as death.
THE DOCTOK'S RIDE. 491
Rose had fallen with her face to the floor, white as the
marble on which she lay, and almost as lifeless.
Paul, disturbed by the noise overhead, had retreated
from the treasures, dropped the brick, and was looking
Tip when that unhappy woman plunged downward upon
the gold. Her hands were extended, and made one
grasp into the heap. The old coins rattled down to the
pavement — her temple struck a corner of the Gold
Brick, and a cluster of diamonds which she had fastened
there was driven through deep into the brain. She
struggled a little, gasped once or twice, stretched her
limbs out upon the treasure, and died there.
CHAPTER LXXVL
THE DOCTOR'S RIDE.
IF the doctor was an eccentric man, he could be, when
the occasion demanded it, both kind and thoughtful.
More than once during Katharine's confinement he had
ridden far beyond his circuit, and visited her in that
lonely prison. ]S"o one was ever made aware of the
fact, and he alone, of all that neighborhood, with one
exception, was informed that Nelson Thrasher was also
an inmate of the same prison. From the good old
people it had been kept with religious delicacy. They
knew that Katharine had a right to her freedom, and
could now return home at pleasure ; but she had written
to ask more time. Duties, she said, to her fellow-
prisoners kept her among them yet a little longer. She
492 THE DOCTOR'S RIDE.
was free to depart, but the hospital needed her, and
with the warden's consent she remained in voluntary
service, teaching those whom she would soon leave
behind how to tend and comfort the sick as she had
done. This was an appeal that the old people could
understand, so the lone mother submitted quietly to a
few more months of solitude, and the Thrashers said to
each other :
"Who knows but Nelson may come back before
then?"
But time creeps on, even in a prison, and at last
Thrasher was set free. The doctor knew the time, and
had the harness put on his old friend that morning at
an early hour. The horse did not exactly like this pro-
ceeding. He objected to any long ride without the
saddle-bags. Indeed, he did not feel exactly like a re-
spectable doctor's horse without that appendage, and
remonstrated against the indignity of reins, thills, and
whiffle-trees, with vigorous shakes of the head, and even
a vicious kick or two. But the doctor came out and
expostulated with him after his own quaint fashion, and
directly the two went off in harmony, one at each end
of the reins.
For two whole days the sick of that neighborhood for
fifteen miles around took care of themselves, and grum-
bled accordingly.
On the evening of the second day, there was a terri-
ble rumbling of loose wheels along the Derby turnpike,
for the brown horse had caught sisrht of his home, and
O O '
instantly went off in a rickety series of leaps that
almost tossed the doctor from his seat in front of the
wagon.
" Don't be afraid," he said, turning to the back seat,
where a man and woman were seated, with the light of
THE DOCTOR'S RIDE. 493
a crescent moon lying tenderly on their faces. " It's his
•way when things go to suit him. The sight of home
alwaj^s sets him off."
" Oh, I am not afraid," said a sweet female voice
" It's a long time since either of us have known what
fear was. Isn't it, Nelson ?"
The man thus addressed clasped the little hand which
stole into his with tender force, but said nothing. His
heart was too full. The trial that lay before him at
the end of that ride might have taxed the courage of
any man.
They rode on to the doctor's house. He got out of
the wagon, removed the temporary seat which had ac-
commodated him from Simsbury, and held a silent
counsel with his horse, patting the old fellow on the
neck, and using all the conciliatory blandishments for
deluding horseflesh into obedience, which have since
been dignified into a science.
"There now, get along," he said, moving toward the
gate. " He'll go ahead without balking. No need of a
whip. The old chap wont stand that from anybody
but me. Drive on, and God be with you."
The strange man leaned heavily on his crutches, and
gently lifted his hat as he uttered these words. The
soft moonlight fell upon his head, and a grander one
seldom bared itself in reverence to a noble sentiment.
As the doctor wheeled around he saw the members
of his family coming out to welcome him home. His
manner changed at once. Inwardly delighted with
their prompt affection he put the children aside with
good-natured rebukes of their clamorous joy, and stalk-
ing into the room, which served as an office, sunk quietly
into a leathern easy chair, and desired the eldest boy to
hand down his fiddle.
494 THE DOCTOR'S RIDE.
The boy took an old violin from its place on the wall
and gave it into his father's hand. The doctor drew a
lump of rosin from his pocket, rasped the bow with it
for a full minute, then lifting the instrument to his
shoulder began to play; directly the children came
rushing in from the hall and kitchen, astonished, for
some of the wildest and most invigorating music heard
for many a day, rang out from the dark old violin, filling
the whole house with cheerfulness.
The doctor's wife — a fine woman, of the Connecticut
stamp — came softly into the room with word that his
supper was on the table ; but he only answered with a
dash at Yankee Doodle, and revelled in it with a zest
ten thousand suppers could not have excited. The
good housewife never urged her husband to any thing ;
she knew the folly of that too well ; so she sat down
pleasantly and listened to his music. It was well worth
the trouble, for the doctor threw off a world of generous
thankfulness in those erratic notes, and when music
comes from the soul it is always good. She asked no
questions, but knew very well that something satisfac-
tory had happened to her husband, for he always
expressed these feelings through his violin.
Meantime the two travellers kept on up the turnpike.
They passed the rock spring, which sparkled out from
the shadows cast over it from the dogwood thickets ;
all cut up root and branch in these dajTs, and moved
slowly over the old bridge. They could see the white
spire of the Episcopal church, rising into the moonlight
from the high bank opposite, and, with the sight, Kath-
arine's heart melted within her. She lifted her eyes to
Thrasher ; the moonlight lay full upon his face. It
was pale and troubled. In that church he had been
baptized.
THE DOCTOR'S BIDE. 495
Katharine took his hand with touching gentleness,
and pressed it to her lips. Her face was so heavenly
that he bent down and kissed it, leaving a heavy tear
on her cheek, which she would not have wiped away
for the world.
"Ah, Nelson !" she said, clasping her hands and
lifting her eyes from the church spire to the heavens,
which it seemed to penetrate — " how plainly I see the
great goodness of God in all that has happened. At
first it was very dark, and I struggled against the
cruelty of that arrest, and the unjust sentence which
branded me before the world. I forgot that the Son of
God was thus assailed, thus branded ! and worse still,
put to death, that Christianity might be our inheritance.
I did not know what great happiness might spring out
of this degradation ; how holy a work lay waiting for
me in that prison !"
" My poor girl, it was a terrible life for you. Can
God forgive me for bringing you there ?"
" Nelson, this is wrong — it is unkind ! It was to be ;
God knew what was best, and sent me in the path of a
great duty against my will, or I never should have
found it. He had compassion on those poor creatures
so barbarously cut off from every thing sweet and good
in life. They were perishing or turning to demons for
the want of a little care, a few kind words, a smile of
pity now and then. I was poor as poor could be, help-
less as a child, but these things I could give them ; so
he thought it best that I should go.
" I was rebellious at first, Nelson, and wondered how
it could be that I, an innocent woman, should suffer
among the guilty. I was so young, so weak, and
miserably selfish. Besides, I hoped so fondly that you
496 THE DOCTOR'S RIDE.
would come back and save me. But they were dragging
me away from all possibility of seeing you."
" My poor Katharine I"
" Oh, it was hard 1 it was hard !" she said, laying
her forehead on his shoulder; "for I thought you
loved me ! I thought you loved me !"
He drew her head close to his bosom, but said
nothing ; self-reproach held his heart in silence.
" With this hope of seeing you again, rising above
every thing, it was a cruel thought that you might come
home and find me there, think perhaps that I had
harmed your child."
"No, Katharine — no, I never could have believed
that. In my most insane moments I knew and felt
how good you were."
" But these thoughts would come to me in my prison,
Nelson ; I could not help that. So I struggled against
that hard fate and wanted to die. The people were
wrong and harsh with me, the law was wrong, the
judges were wrong, but God was right."
" I — I was the most cruel of all," said Thrasher, in
a low, pained voice.
" Still it was all needful. What else would have won
me from home to live among those poor convicts, to help
them and feel for them, till a beautiful happiness sprang
up to me out of those dreary mines. Then, then," she
added, with a gush of tender gratitude, "just as I had
learned to live and endure for others, knowing that
God's wisdom was higher than man's justice, you came,
my husband, and I had the power to help you. I so
weak, and you so strong ! From that day I knew how
great a blessing had been won for me, out of what
seemed the deadly ruin of a life. In that black depth
I found the heart of my husband."
THE DOCTOR'S RIDE. 497
" Oh, a worthless, wicked heart, Katharine !"
"But it was mine — all mine !"
He girded her closer with his arm, and that was
answer enough.
" Then you began to trust me, and believe in me,
Nelson ; as a strong man lets some little child lead him,
because of its very helplessness ; you listened to me
and loved me — for you do love me, Nelson !"
" The God you worship so beautifully, Katharine,
only knows how much I love yon !"
" Oh, we shall be very happy I" answered the young
woman, bowing her head, while a soft rain of tears
fell down her cheeks. " Every soul in the prison loved
us. God has forgiven us !"
" Not us, Katharine ! It is I that have need of His
pardon ; not you, my wife !"
But in her sweet humility she would not have it so,
and protested against it. " No, no ; I was untamed,
impatient, disobedient to my mother. In a woman these
are great sins. We are equal there as in the mercies
which fall around us now."
Thrasher was a man of few words, but his wife under-
stood this, and saw, by the emotion in his face, how
deeply his spirit was touched.
They fell into silence after this, and rode on slowly,
thinking of those they were about to meet. The wagon
rolled heavily up Falls Hill, turned at the old willow
tree, and passed up the Bungy road approaching the old
homestead.
They came to Mrs. Allen's house first. It was dark
and still as the grave. Why was this ? The hour did
not warrant such dreary darkness, such utter solitude.
Katharine, who was leaning eagerly forward, fell
31
498 THE CONVICT'S RETURN.
back with a heavy sigh. Was her mother dead ? Had
sorrow broken her heart at last ? "Was it a tomb to
which she had come, after eight long years of imprison-
ment ?
They left the wagon, and knocked at the door. There
was no footstep within. No answering voice. Not even
a gleam of fire light to speak of an existing household.
They returned to the wagon without speaking, and
drove slowly over the hill ; very slowly, for that empty
house had filled them with painful forebodings.
From the butternut tree they got a first sight of the
old homestead. From the sitting room window a steady
light was burning, which fell upon a great snowball
bush, turning the huge white blossoms that covered it
into globes of gold. " They are alive ; they are at
home !" said Thrasher. " God be thanked !"
CHAPTER LXXVII.
THE CONVICT'S RETURN.
OLD Mr. Thrasher and his wife sat together that night
in the very room in which they had been blessed by the
first return of their son. He had been away weary,
weary years now, and not a word of tidings had ever
reached them. But the old hope was there. The faith
which nothing but a certainty of his death could destroy.
There they sat, as on that night, waiting for him, not
with absolute hope, but from that tender unbelief which
will not give up a loved one.
This evening they were not alone. An old woman,
Very thin and withered, but with a certain hard stateli-
THE CONVICT'S RETURN. 499
ness hanging around her, sat near the hearth. A hood
and shawl, lying on the table near the door, proved that
she had only come in for a brief visit. There was not
much conversation among them. Mrs. Allen had just
received a letter from her son, who had shipped in the
India trade from Liverpool, and had not been home for
years. Now he was on a return voyage, and having
saved money enough, was resolved to leave the sea and
take to farming with his mother.
It was a kind letter, and spoke most affectionately
of the young sister who was, as he thought, pining to
death in the prison mines at Simsbury.
The old man put on his spectacles and read the letter
aloud. Mrs. Allen listened with interest, as if she had
not already got the contents by heart. Old Mrs. Thrasher
stopped short in her knitting, and sighed heavily. What
a comfort it was to get a letter from one's son ! Would
she ever see another from Nelson ? Just then the sound
of wagon wheels coming over the hill reached them. He
stopped reading and listened ; why, no one could tell,
for wagons passed that road every half hour in the
twenty-four. As the wagon approached, these three old
people looked at each other with vague bewilderment,
and listened like persons in expectation. It stopped
before the house. The gate opened. Mrs. Thrasher
leaned forward, listening. " It is his step !"
That good woman had said exactly these same words
years before, when some brown threads darkened her
hair, which was white as snow now.
The old man now arose, so did Mrs. Allen, for she
heard a step beyond that which sounded on the gravel
walk — something so light that it could have reached no
intelligence save the ever-watchful love of a mother.
They all stood and listened — no one of them had
500 THE CONVICT'S RETURN.
strength enough to move. The door was opened — those
steps advanced up the entry way, and paused there,
Then a hand, which shook the latch it touched, opened
the door, and the old people saw their son, and behind
him, the sweet, pale face of Katharine, his wife. The
lamp light lay full upon them, but the old people were
blinded by a sweet rush of love that made their hearts
swell again, and could not see distinctly. The old man
went forward.
" My son, my son !"
They were strong men, this father and son, but they
fell into each other's arms and wept like children.
Then the old man gave way to his wife, and taking
Katharine from her mother's bosom, laid both hands on
her head and blessed her.
After the first outgush of welcome, Kelson Thrasher
turned to his wife.
" Father," he said, " it is this woman, my wife, whom
you must thank — she who suffered innocently, that I
might be given back to my home. It was for your son
she waited after they had set her free, for I have been
her fellow-prisoner. Oh, father ! I have sinned against
Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no longer worthy to
be called thy son."
Tears were raining down the old man's face — his arms
were extended, and he cried out :
" Oh, my son, my son ! what is thy innocence or guilt
to us, when God has forgiven ?" Again the old man
fell upon his son's bosom and wept.
When Katharine's head was uncovered, and the old
people had wiped away their tears, the change which
had taken place in that young couple struck them with
fresh thrills of tenderness. Thrasher's hair was thread-
,ed with silver, and the face it shadowed bore proofs of
THE CONVICT'S KETURJST. 501
suffering which uo after time could eiface, but the serene
strength which sprang out of his new life, gave some-
thing of grandeur to his features. There was no look
of concealment in it now, but he met his father's eyes
with the open frankness of boyhood.
The dear old lady could not be satisfied with one
embrace, but hovered around her son in a birdlike flut-
ter, smoothed his hair with her plump little palm, and
laid her cheek lovingly against it, whispering, " My poor
boy, my poor dear boy. "
Katharine had been whispering to her mother ; her
face became anxious ; she was evidently pleading for
something. At last the stiff old woman arose, and
going up to Thrasher laid one hand on his shoulder.
" Nelson Thrasher, I know the wrong you have done
my daughter. My son told me all before he went his
voyage to the Indies. He charged me to keep it secret,
and I have. She begs me to pardon it, and I will.
Nelson Thrasher, I forgive you, as I pray God to for-
give my own sins."
Thrasher bowed his head ; the solemnity of the old
woman went to his soul. After a moment his face was
slowly lifted, and his eyes looked into hers.
" I thank you," he said, gently. " Katharine, tell her
that she can trust you with me now."
Katharine came to his side, smiling.
" Yes, mother ; for he loves me ; and I, oh, you know
how it was always with me."
"And now you will live with us," said Mrs. Thrasher,
hovering around her son, troubled in her heart that any
one should claim a word or look.
" Yes, mother, we have come to the homestead to end
our clays. Here, among our old neighbors, we will
redeem the good name which has been forfeited by
502 TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL.
your son, and innocently lost by this dear girl. Where
else can we turn ? Let our neighbors know all ; we will
have nothing to do with concealments, but meet their
kindness or condemnation fairly. In time they will
learn to like us again — for her sake I hope it, and will
toil for it."
" We will always stand by our children ; wont we
Mrs. Allen?"
It was the soft, cooing voice of Mrs. Thrasher which
uttered these words. " The neighbors like us, and wont
be harsh with them. If they should, you know we are
company among ourselves." The dear old woman
turned her mild brown eyes from Mrs. Allen to her hus-
band, questioning them both.
The old man smiled.
" Our son is right ; let him start life once more among
his old neighbors."
And so it was settled among them, in the stillness of
that night, after Nelson Thrasher had revealed every
thing to his parents.
CHAPTER LXXYIII.
TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL.
THE church bell was ringing cheerfully on Falls Hill.
Indeed, on a day like that, every sound took a jubilant
tone. The sunshine was so bright, the meadows and
foliage so richly green, that one breathed deeply with a
keen sense of enjoyment.
The birds in the pine woods made a perfect riot of
music among the trees, and built their nests lovingly,
TOM HUTCHINSJ QUARREL. 503
in defiance of blue laws, and forgetful — as birds will be
sometimes — that it was the Sabbath day. Even pretty
little humming-birds came out in force that morning,
and shook the trumpet honeysuckles like mad things,
buzzing their wings, and setting the great bumble bees
that haunted the clover fields a most indecorous exam-
ple. Such quantities of fennel as was cut from the green
stalks that morning and tied into dainty bunches, ready
to be nibbled at in church. Such pretty bouquets of
violets and wild roses were made — such lovely new bon-
nets and muslin dresses as appeared that day for the
first time — I can neither describe or enumerate.
" What was it all about ?"
Why a confirmation, a wedding, and a double baptism
were to come off that day, performed by the bishop him-
self. No wonder all Chewstown came over from that
side of the river. No wonder that Falls Hill, Bungy,
and Shrub Oak — to say nothing of the factory flats —
should be one scene of commotion ! The wedding of
itself would have been enough to set people wild. Why
the bride was pretty Rose Mason, that little girl who
used to live with her handsome mother down in the pine
woods ; the sweetest creature that the sun ever shone
upon, and just as beautiful now ; in fact, more so.
" Who was she going to marry ?"
Did any one remember a remarkably handsome little
fellow who came to board with Mrs. Allen, in Bungy,
about the time that Katy Allen — well, they would not
say any thing about that ; poor thing, she had suffered
enough — but he went to school at Shrub Oak, and was
a perfect little gentleman. His name was Paul De
Yarney, and he had come out so rich that no one could
count his gold.
There was but one tiling that could be said against
504: TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL.
the match — young De Yarney brought a black slave
with him when he first came into the State, and kept
him still, for the poor fellow had been about Bungy not
two days ago, and no doubt was there yet. The bishop
might have something to say about that before he would
marry the young man ; but it was to be hoped that it
would not quite break up the match. Still, a slave in
old Connecticut I that could not be thought of a mo-
ment by any Christian community. Certainly Nelson
Thrasher and his wife would be confirmed — that was all
settled with the bishop, who had been informed about
the case thoroughly by Thrasher himself; as for his wife,
people were beginning to think that after all she had
been innocent about that affair. A woman that could
kill her own child never yet made a wife like her. Why
those old people fairly worshipped her. When old
Mrs. Thrasher was sick, she never had her clothes off
for weeks together. Then she was so good in sickness ;
always the first to offer herself, if watchers were wanted.
Why Tom Hutchins might have lost his young wife if
it had not been for her care. Night and day, night and
day, that faithful woman was by her bedside, till the
fever left her. The doctor had been heard to declare,
over and over again, that he should not know how to get
along with his patients if it were not for Mrs. Nelson
Thrasher. Then Nelson had turned out such a sensible,
steady man, for all his hard life. Yes, yes ; the thing
was certain ; both he and his wife would be confirmed.
No doubt of that.
Then about the baptism ; of course that was for Tom
Hutchins' twins^a girl and a boy that you could not
tell apart to save your life. Tom and his wife were so
proud of those young ones they never would be content
till all the town had seen them in their long white
TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL. 505
cli listening dresses. That young fellow did make sucli
a fool of himself. Just as if nobody had ever had twins
to baptize before him.
All this gossip was pretty nearly true. The bishop
had come, and was stopping at the square white house
near the willow tree. Paul De Varney was staying at
Mrs. Allen's with .Tube. David Kice had built a large
side building to the old house, since he settled on the
farm, and it was plenty large enough to accommodate
half a dozen guests if they could have been persuaded
to stay. But when Mr. Prior the minister, and his little
wife, came from Bays Hollow, bringing Rose Mason
back to be married in her native village, they went
directly up to old Mrs. Thrasher's and made the home-
stead cheerful with compan}^.
Since the arrival of all these people in the village,
Tom Hutchins, who lived in Mrs. Mason's cottage in
the pine woods, had been wonderfully busy, and gave
himself up to his friends more completely than could be
expected of a young married man, not two months
before made the father of healthy twins, good as gold
and plump as partridges.
Notwithstanding this paternal drawback, Tom had
made all arrangements with regard to the bishop ; had
seen the publishment properly laid on the pulpit cushion,
ready for use, three legal Sundays, and had twice driven
his steel colored colt into New Haven, to get a pair of
satin slippers and a certain kind of ribbon for Rose, at
which his wife pouted, and the twins, partaking of hor
ill humor, kept the poor fellow walking the chamber
floor half the night, now with one, and then with tho
other, in his arms.
I am afraid Mrs. Hutchins did not, on that occasion,
take quite her share of the nursing. When Tom asked
506 TOM HUTCHINS' QUARREL.
her, in his distress, if she wouldn't get up and make a
•
little fennel seed tea for the poor little things, she de-
sired to know if it wouldn't be just as well to make that
request of Rose Mason, with her curls and her gipsy
hat on one side, at which Tom broke forth with energy :
" Talk about Rose Mason," he said ; " the girl that
was going to marry his earliest friend, one of the finest
fellows on earth— a girl that was good as gold, and
generous as — Oh it was too bad ; he wouldn't have
thought it of a wife of his — a woman that he had
loved so."
" Had loved 1" Mrs. Hutchins murmured, faintly,
" Had loved !"
Tom's heart melted within him as he heard the low
protest, but he contented himself by kissing each of
the twins, while their little heads rested on his shoulders,
and went on making an iron-hearted fellow of himself.
Yes, Tom meant had. Xo love in the world could
stand such venomous attacks on that nice girl, who
had given him up so handsomely. Where would she
have been but for that ? Breaking her heart, and
pining herself to death, instead of taking her place as
a respectable married person and the head of a thriving
family. There was the twins, too, precious dears. Par
wasn't scolding them. Where in the world would they
have been if Rose had kept him to his word, as any
other girl would have done ?
Here Mrs. Hutchins began to sob, and said, peni-
tently, that she hadn't meant any thing of the kind —
in fact, hadn't said a single thing against Miss Rose
Mason, who was breaking her heart though ; and —
and — oh, dear, if she'd only staj-ed at home with her own
dear par and mar, instead of marrying a man that didn't
TOM HUTCH INS' QUABREL. 507
love her, and was keeping her poor babies out in the
cold just to break her heart.
" There, there ! just snuggle the little shavers up to
you, that's a darling !" cried Tom, huddling the two
babies into their mother's arms, and leaving a peni-
tential kiss somewhere in the borders of her cap. "I'll
kindle the fire and make some tea myself — I know you
didn't mean it."
" Indeed I didn't, Tom. But you mustn't do it ; I
will."
"There now, keep quiet, or you'll set 'em a-going
again."
" No, Tom, they're both sound asleep."
" You don't say so. Well, they've got me wide
awake, anyhow ; so I'll just light a candle and show
you what I really was doing in New Haven, and what
Rose Mason wanted me to buy for her."
Tom unlocked a closet that held his cravats and sun-
day clothes, from which he took a long, deep paper
box, and carried it to the bed.
" See here !" he cried, lifting up a garment so white
and soft that it seemed woven from snow-flakes. " Two
of 'em, just alike ; India muslin that her father sent
from Calcutta, she told me to tell you. See how they
are worked round the bottom, and cut up with lace.
Then, here's the caps ! One of 'em just fits my fist.
It was to get the ribbon for these cockades she sent me
to New Haven — white for the gal, and blue for the boy.
Now what do you think about it ?"
Mrs. Hutchins thought that she was the most silly,
unreasonable, good-for-nothing creature that ever lived;
but she hoped, for all, that Tom wouldn't say had again.
It was too cruel, even if she was to blame.
Tom admitted that he was a hard-hearted, cruel,
508 THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM.
tiger of a fellow, and not worth half the love she gave
him ; and so the young couple were reconciled.
CHAPTER LXXIX.
THE WEDDING AND THE BAPTISM.
NOTWITHSTANDING this little domestic scene, Tom
stood by his friends bravely ; " he was bound to see this
wedding put through in style, let what would come."
Mrs. Hutchins was a wise little lady in her day, and
kept quiet after this ; but she insisted on having a new
straw bonnet with white ribbons, and would have worn
her own wedding dress only Tom objected, and said it
would be like putting on airs, and she the head of a
family ; that dove-colored silk would do beautifully.
So the afternoon came, as I have said, and the bell
rang out loud and cheerfully, sounding out an invitation
to every lady from Rock Rimmoud to Castle Rock. Then
the people came pouring in from Bungy, Shrub Oak,
Chewstown, and Pine Island in a perpetual storm. The
old barn-like Presbyterian meeting-house in Chewstown
was deserted by all except the most aged members, and
the school-house where the little handful of Methodists
worshipped, had to close its doors, for no one but the
class leader presented himself for admission. So the
church was crowded.
Those who could not gain access were scattered in
groups on the green jn front, and a crowd took shelter
under the old willow at the crossroads, determined to
get a good view of that young foreigner who was going
THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM. 509
to marry pretty Rose Mason. People said he was
handsome as a lord, and rich as a prince. Of course he
should be all that to carry off the prettiest girl that ever
lived in the town, to say nothing of her goodness. Of
course everybody remembered Captain Mason and his
handsome wife. She was dead, poor woman ; but Cap-
tain Mason had given up his ship, and was going to
France with his daughter and her young husband.
Wasn't it strange that Captain Rice should have got
into company like that? And Tom Hutchins. The young
couple are going to take tea at Tom's house after the
ceremony. Strange, wasn't it ? But then Tom always
was stumbling into some good fortune.
While these remarks were going on the people within
the church were lost in admiration of the rare flowers —
white roses and white lilies — that shed their fragrance
over the altar. The same perfume which was to float
around the bride would first consecrate the penitents
who came forward for confirmation.
They came up the broad aisle slowly and with down-
cast eyes — a man and his wife, only those two. The
bishop stood ready. Every eye was upon them ; some
turned away in hard contempt, some looked pitifully on
the young woman who, innocent or guilty, had suffered
so much. How beautiful she was. With what meek
grace she knelt down and bowed her head where the
shadow of her trouble had fallen so early. And the
man, how quiet and self-centered he was, giving his soul
up to its holy work, without a thought of those who
looked on. Handsome ; yes, he was more than hand-
some, with that glow upon his face ; but it only came
once, when her eyes were uplifted to his, after that a
solemn sadness fell upon him.
That group of old people, and that open-faced seafar-
510 THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM.
ing man, standing near the altar. Certainly that was
her mother, and the little woman standing close to the
old man, was his mother, and the seafaring man was
Captain Rice, her half brother. How completely they
seemed absorbed by the kneeling couple. Well, after
all there must be some excuse — crime did not seem natu-
ral to such people, or to the children of that honest
couple. God must have touched their hearts.
Thus the prejudices of the congregation softened,
and gave way under the spiritual influence of that holy
rite which stamped those who had been condemned
criminals as Christians before the Lord.
When Katharine arose from her consecration and
moved back, some of her old schoolmates looked kindly
upon her, and one opened the pew door, thus inviting
her to a seat. At this a flush came over her pale face,
and you could see quick tears swelling under her eye-
lids.
After these two people were lost sight of, another
group appeared in the aisle. A noble young man, with
those soft, velvety eyes, that are at once so languid and
so bright, and a fair young creature, crowned with white
jessamines, and floating in a cloud of gossamer lace,
whose cheeks wore a flush of wild roses, and whose lips
trembled between smiles and tears. No bridesmaids
were in attendance, but a tall, gra~we man, whom every-
body recognized as the bride's father, walked with them
to the altar, and gave her away, with a look of tender
sadness that seemed habitual to his noble face.
The bridal party stepped aside from the altar to make
room for another couple, and then Tom Hutchins and
his wife came up the broad aisle with blushes and
smiles chasing each other across their faces as pride
and strength shone in those young hearts. The man
THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM. 511
carried an infant in his arms, whose soft face dimpled in
response to its father's smiles, and which wore a blue
rosette in the mass of soft lace that formed its cap.
The woman looked fresh as a wild rose in her bonnet
with white ribbons and a dove-colored silk adown which
the long white christening dress of the girl baby floated
mistily, while the rosette on its cap fluttered like a
white poppy in the wind.
Paul and Rose, these names were duplicated at the
altar with due sprinkling of water-drops from a fount
wreathed with flowers. Then Tom Hutchins and his
wife walked down the aisle again, looking grave and
thoughtful, as if they had just begun to realize what it
was to be the father and mother of human souls, whose
pilgrimage is through all eternity.
In violation of the usual custom, a colored man was
accommodated with a seat near the door, whose glowing
face and genial smile made every one in his vicinity
brighten with pleasant sympathy. He was so occupied
with the ceremony that he had not regarded a little
group of persons who stood just outside the church,
conversing eagerly together. At last one of these men
came and touched him on the shoulder.
Jube, xised to obedience, arose and followed the man
into the centre of the group that was evidently waiting
for him, and looked around in some surprise, for they
were all strangers.
"I say," said one of the men, making mysterious
signals with his fingers, " now's your time, while every-
body is looking on the christening. There's my horse
and wagon ; take you to New Haven in an hour ; steam-
boat ready. We've made a little contribution. Here's
two silver dollars, and you'll find some doughnuts in
the wagon seat with a chunk of cheese. Liberty's
THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM.
the -word. Leave the horse at Buck's tavern in Chapel
street, till sent for."
Jube turned from one face to another, wondering
what they wanted of him.
" Don't be skeered, and look so wild," said the first
speaker, "we'll stand by you; it's our bounden duty as
Christians. So jump in while you have a chance."
Of course Jube had learned a good deal of English
in all the years that he had been in America ; but he
spoke brokenly, and had some difficulty in commanding
words when taken by surprise.
" What you want ob Jube ? Where shall he jump ?"
" Out of slavery into liberty," was the answer. " Run
away from the young man who owns you for his slave."
" Slave ! slave ! — what for Jube run away from young
master? What for who s&ys so — Jube happy very
much."
" But you are a slave !"
Jube laughed till all his white teeth shone again :
"Jube like slave."
" He makes you work for nothing !"
Jube looked down at his brawny frame, and laughed
again.
" Come, cuff, make haste !" cried the man whose
wagon was waiting, " you've no time to lose. They'll
be coming out soon, and then it's all day with your
chance."
In his eager philanthropy, the man put his arm through
Jube's, and attempted to drag him toward the willow
tree, where his horse was fastened, but Jube shook
him off.
" Jube ride behind young masser and Miss Rose. He
happy there."
"Poor fellow," said the man, in a broken-hearted
THE WEDDING AND BAPTISM. 518
voice. " He don't know what freedom is. Let him go.
It's too late now; they're coming."
True enough, Paul De Varney and his bride were walk-
ing down the broad aisle of the church — he with a smile
on his lips, and she with a warm flush of roses on her
cheeks. Behind them came Hutchins and his family.
A carriage was drawn up at the door, ready to carry
the bridal pair to Tom Hutchins' house, in the pine
woods. Jube sprang forward to open the carriage door,
and held his arm down to save that snowy bridal dress
from a contact with the wheels.
Rose smiled upon him as she entered the carriage,
and touched his shoulder, as if for" support, which
brought a blessing upon her in Jube's broken English.
When Paul took his seat, Jube seized his hand and
kissed it, thus giving his congratulations before those
,who would have lured him away in the kindness of their
ignorance. The faithful fellow felt as if his master had
been slandered when these men called him a slave, and
so he was.
Directly after the carriage drove off, a smart, little
one-horse wagon, yellow as an orange, took its place,
and over the wheel leaped our friend Tom Hutchins,
who waited, with the reins in his hand, till a little wo-
man, with an infant on each arm, came out of the crowd.
Tom took the boy baby in one arm, and held his horse
with the other, till the little woman clambered over the
front wheel to her seat. Then, after smoothing down
its complication of garments, he settled the little trooper,
as he called it, by its twin in their young mother's lap,
gave a leap to her side, and, with an old-fashioned crack
of the whip, dashed after the wedding carriage.
Not till most of the congregation had left the church
32
514 THE W K T ^ T X Q AND BAPTISM.
did Nelson Thrasher come forth with his wife, circled,
as it were, by the old people, and supported by Captain
Bice.
The bishop left his vestry and came with them, talking
in a low, kind voice to Katharine for some moments on
the steps of the church, when he left her with a fatherly
shake of the hand. Several of the matrons and girls
who had held aloof till then, came up and gave both
Nelson and herself a cordial greeting. It was known
that they had been invited to join the wedding party,
and that young De Varney had left Thrasher in charge
of his property during his proposed absence in Europe.
This proof of confidence had a wonderful effect on the
old neighbors, and quite a little group gathered around
the husband and wife, giving them generous God
speed.
Neither Katharine or her husband cared to join that
bridal party down in the pine woods. The day had
been too impressive and solemn for that. But with
serene faces and hearts full of gratitude, they entered
the one-horse wagon that waited for them and followed
the old folks slowly over the Bungy hills.
THE END.
CHEAPEST BOOK HOUSE IN THE WORLD,
T. B, PETERSON AND BROTHERS,
306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Penna.,
Publish the most Saleable Books in the World, and Supply all
Books at the Lowest Rates,
New Books issued every week, comprising the most entertaining and
Absorbing works published, suitable for the Parlor, Library, Steamboat,
md Railroad Reading, by the best writers in the world.
Any person wanting any books at all, in any quantity, from a single
book, to a dozen, hundred, thousand, or larger quantity, had better send
on their orders to the "PUBLISHING AND BOOKSELLING HOUSE
of T. B. PETERSON <fc BROTHERS," No. 306 Chestnut Stieet, Phil-
adelphia, who publish over One Thousand Books, and have the largest
stock in the country, and will sell them at very favorable prices for
net cash. We have just issued a new and complete descriptive Cata-
logue, as well as Wholesale Price Lists, which we will send to any
Bookseller or Library on application.
Enclose five, ten, twenty, fifty or a hundred dollars, or more, to us in
a letter, and write what kind of books you wish, and on its receipt, they
will be packed and sent to you, per first express or mail, or in any other
way you may direct, with circulars, show-bills, etc., gratis.
Orders solicited from Libraries, Booksellers, Private Families, etc.
Address all Cash orders, retail and wholesale, to
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 306 Chestnut Street, Philada,
CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS.'
Cheap edition, paper cover.
This edition is published complete in twenty-six large octavo vol.
umes, in paper cover, as follows :
Our Mutual Friend, $1.00
Great Expectations, 75
Lamplighter's Story, 75
David Copperfield, 75
Dombey and Son, 75
Nicholas Nickleby, 75
Pickwick Papers, 75
Christmas Stories, 75
Martin Chuzzlewit, 75
Old Curiosity Shop, 75
Barnaby Rudge, 75
Dickens' New Stories, 75
Bleak House...... 75
Sketches by "Boz," 75
Oliver Twist, 75
Little Dorrit, 75
Tale of Two Cities, 76
New Years' Stories, 75
Dickens' Short Stories, 75
Message from the Sea, 76
Holiday Stories, 75
American Notes, 76
Pic Nic Papers, 75
Somebody's Ltijrgage 25
Tom Tiddler's Ground, 25
The Haunted House, 25
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
1
2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS.
ILLUSTRATED OCTAVO EDITION.
Each book being complete in one volume.
David Copperfield, ..... »Cloth, $2.50
Barnaby Rudge, .......... Cloth,
Martin Chuzzlewit, ...... Cloth,
Old Curiosity Shop, ...... Cloth,
Christinas Stories, ....... Cloth,
Dickens' New Stories,... Cloth,
A Tale of Two Cities,. ..Cloth,
American Notes and Pic-Nic
Papers, ................... Cloth,
2.50
2.50
2.50
2.50
2.50
2.51
2.50
Our Mutual Friend, Cloth, $2.50
Pickwick Papers, Cloth, 2.50
Nicholas Nickleby, Cloth, 2.50
Great Expectations, Cloth, 2.50
Lamplighter's Story,. ...Cloth, 2.50
Oliver Twist, Cloth, 2.50
Bleak House, Cloth, 2.50
Little Dorrit, Cloth, 2.50
Dombey and Son, Cloth, 2.50
Sketches by " Boz," Cloth, 2.50
Price of a set, in Black cloth, in eighteen volumes $44.00
" " Full Law Library style 53.00
" " Half calf, sprinkled edges 63.00
" '• Half calf, marbled edges 68.00
« " Half calf, antique 78.00
" " Half «alf, full gilt backs, etc 78.00
PEOPLE'S DUODECIMO EDITION.
Each book being complete in one volume.
Our Mutual Friend, Cloth, $2.50
Pickwick Papers, Cloth, 2.50
Nicholas Nicklely Cloth, 2.50
Great Expectations, Cloth, 2.50
Lamplighter's Story,. ..Cloth, 2.50
Darid Copperfiald, Cloth, 2.50
Oliver Twist, Cloth, 2.50
Bleak House, Cloth, 2.50
A Tale of Two Cities. ..Cloth, 2.50
Dickens' New Stories,..Cloth, 2.50
Price of a set, in Black cloth, in eighteen volumes $44.00
" " Full Law Library style 50.00
" " Half calf, sprinkled edges 60.00
" " Half calf, marbled edges 65.00
" •' Half calf, antique 72.00
« " Half calf, full gilt backs, etc 72.00
ILLUSTRATED DUODECIMO EDITION.
Each book being complete in two vohtmes.
Little Dorrit, Cloth, $2.50
Dombey and Son, Cloth, 2.50
Christmas Stories, Cloth, 2.50
Sketches by "Boz," Cloth, 2.50
Barnaby Rudge, Cloth, 2.50
Martin Chuzzlewit, Cloth, 2.50
Old Curiosity Shop, Cloth, 2.50
Dickens' Short Stories,.Cloth, 2.50
Message from the Sea,. .Cloth, 2.50
Our Mutual Friend, Cloth, $4.00
4.00
Bleak House ............... Cloth, $4.00
Sketches by "Boz," ...... Cloth,
Barnaby Rudge, .......... Cloth,
Martin Chuzzlewit, ...... Cloth,
Old Curiosity Shop, ...... Cloth,
Little Dorrit, .............. Cloth,
Dombey and Son, ........ Cloth,
4.00
4.00
4.00
4.00
4.00
4.00
Pickwick Papers, Cloth,
Tale of Two Cities, Cloth, 4.00
Nicholas Nickleby, Cloth, 4.00
David Copperfield, Cloth, 4.00
Oliver Twist, Cloth, 4.00
Christmas Stories, Cloth, 4.00
The following are each complete in one volume.
Mreat Expectations, Cloth, $2.50 I Dickens' New Stories,..Clotu, $2.60
Lamplighter's Story,. ...Cloth, 2.50 I Message from the Sea,.Cloth, 2.60
Price c' a set, in thirty-two volumes, bound in cloth, $64.00
" " Full Law Library style 80.00
« " Half calf, antique 125.00
" » Half calf, full gilt backs, etc 125.00
Igf Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 3
CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS.
LIBRARY OCTAVO EDITION, IN NINE VOLUMES.
This edition is in NINE large octavo volumes, with a Portrait of
Charles Dickens, containing all of his writings in the nine volumes, hand-
somel printed and profusely illustrated, and bound in the following va-
rious styles. (.4. New Edition in Press.)
Price of a set, in Black Cloth, in nine volumes $26,00
" " Law Library style 31.00
" " Half calf, sprinkled edges 33.00
" " Half calf, marbled edges 36.00
" " Half'calf, antique 46.00
" " Half'calf, full gilt backs, etc 45.C3
G. W. M. REYNOLDS' WORKS.
Rose Foster,
Mysteries of Court of London,.. 1
Caroline of Brunswick, 1
Venetia Trelawney,
Lord Saxondale,
Count Christoval,
Rosa Lambert,
The above are in paper cover,
The Opera Dancer,
The Ruined Gamester,
Child of Waterloo,
Ciprina; or, Secrets of a Pic-
ture Gallery,
Robert Bruce,
Discarded Queen,
The Gipsey Chief,
Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots,...
Wallace, Hero of Scotland,
Isabella Vincent,
Vivian Bertram,
Countess of Lascelles,
ALEXANDER
Count of Monte Cristo,...
The Iron Mask,
Louise La Valliere, 1
Adventures of a Marquis, 1
Diana of Meridor,
The Three Guardsmen,...
Twenty Years After,
Bragelonne,
Ihe Conscript, 1
The above are in paper cover,
Edmond Dantes,
George,
Felina de Chambure,
The Horrors of Paris,
Annette, Lady of Pearls,
The Fallen Angel,
1 50
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
r, or i
75
50
75
50
75
50
75
75
75
75
75
75
:R D
1 50
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
75
75
75
1 50
1 00
] 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
75
75
75
75
75
50
75
75
75
75
50
50
50
I 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
1 00
75
75
1 ftO
Eustace Quentin,.
The Rye-House Plot,
a cloth, price $2.00 each.
The Soldier's Wife,
Queen Joanna ; Court Naples,
Loves of the Harem,
Countess and the Pa<"e,
Edgar Montrose,
TJMAS' WORKS.
Memoirs of a Phvsician,
Queen's Necklace,
Six Years Later,
Countess of Charney,
Andree de Taverney,
The Chevalier,
Forty-five Guardsmen,
The Iron Hand,
or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
Sketches in France, 75
Isabel of Bavaria,.., 75
Mohicans of Paris, 50
Man with Five Wives, 75
Twin Lieutenants, 75
sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
4 T. B PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
MRS SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS.
Allworth Abbey 1 50
The Bridal Eve, 1 50
The Fatal Marriage, 1 50
Love's Labor Won, 1 50
Deserted Wife, 1 50
The Gipsy's Prophecy, 1 50
The Mother-in-Law 1 50
Haunted Homestead, 1 50
The Lost Heiress 1 50
Lady of the Isle, 1 50
The Two Sisters, 1 50
The Three Beauties, 1 50
Vivia; Secret Power,.... 1 50
The Missing Bride, 1 50
Wife's Victory, 1 50
The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
Hickory Hall, 50 | Broken Engagement,
CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS.
Retribution,
1 50
India. Pearl of Pearl River,.
Curse of Clifton,
1 5C
1 50
Discarded Daughter,
I 50
The Initials,
1 50
The Jealous Husband......
] 50
Self-Sacrifice,
1 *>«
Belle of Washington,
1 !/0
Kate Aylesford,
1 6«
Courtship and Matrimony,
Family Pride,
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 5C
The Lover's Trials ...»
1 50
The Planter's Northern Bride,.. 1 50
Linda, 1 50
Robert Graham, 1 50
Courtship and Marriage, 1 50
Ernest Linwood, 1 50
Ilcna; or, the Snow-bird, 1 50
Eoline, I 50
Forsaken Daughter, 1 50
The Banished Son, 1 50
Helen and Arthur, 1 50
Planter's Daughter, 1 50
Beautiful Widow, 1 50
Brother's Secret, Tf 50
The Matchmaker 1 50
Marcus Warland, t 50
The Lost Daughter, 1 50
Lovo after Marriage, 1 50
The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
FREDRIKA BREMER'S WORKS.
Father and Daughter, 1 50 I The Neighbors, 1 50
The Four Sisters, 1 50 I The Home 1 50
The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
Life in the Old World; or, Two Years in Switzerland and Italy, by Miss
Bremen, in two volumes, cloth, price, $4.00
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS.
Silent Struggles, 1 50
The Wife's Secret, 1 50
The Rejected Wife, 1 50
The Heiress 1 50
Fashion and Famine, 1 50
MaryDerwent, 1 50
The Old Homestead, 1 50
The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
CATHARINE SINCLAIR'S WORKS.
Flirtations in Fashionable Life, 1 50
Tbe Rival Belles, 1 50
The Lost Love, 1 50
The Woman in E!ack, 1 50
The Pride of Life, 1 50
The above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
The Devoted Bride, 1 5P
Love and Duty, 1 50
Bohemians in London, 1 50
High Life in Washington, 1 50
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Priee, by
T. B. Peterson *= Brothers, Philadelphia. Pa.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS, 5
CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS.
Charles O'Malley, ................. 75
Harry Lorrequer, .................. 7o
Jack Ilinton, ....................... 75
Tom Burke of Ours, ............... 75
Kuight of Gwynnaj .............. 75
Arthur O'Leary, 75
Cori Cregan, 7S
Davenport Dunn, 74
Horace Tetnpleton,.
Kate O'Donoghue, ,., ?fi
Above are in paper, or in cloth, price $2.00 a volume.
Ten Thousand a Year, paper,... 1 50 I The Diary of a Medical Stu-
len Thousand a Year, cloth,... 2 001 dent, 2*
DOESTICKS' WORKS.
Daesticks' Letters, 1 50 I The Elephant Club, 1 60
Plu-Ri-Bus-Tah, 1 60 I Witches of New York,, 1 50
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth for $2.00 each.
WAR NOVELS. BY HENRY MORFORD.
The Coward, 1 50 I Days of Shoddy, 1 60
Shnuldnr-Straps, 1 501
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each.
BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED.
Mrs. Goodfellow's Cookery as it should be 2 00
Petersons' New Cook Book, 2 00
Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book, 2 00
Widdificld's New Cook Book, 2 00
Mrs. Bale's Receipts for the Million, 2 00
Miss Leslie's New Receipts for Cooking, 2 00
Mrs. Hale'sNew Cook Book 2 00
Francatelli's Celebrated Cook Book. The Modern Cook, with 62
illustrations, 600 large octavo pages, 5 00
GREEN'S WORKS ON GAMBLING.
Sambling Exposed, 1 50 I The Reformed Gambler, 1 50
The Gambler's Life, 1 50 I Secret Band of Brothers, 1 50
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each.
MRS. HENRY WOOD'S BOOKS.
Mildred Arkell, 1 50 The Castle's Heir, 1 50
Lord Oiikburn's Daughters ; or,
the Earl's Heirs, 1 50
Squire Trevlyn's Heir ;
Trevlyn Hold, 1 50
Abeve are each in paper cover, or each one ia cloth, for $2.00 each.
Shadow of Ashlydyat, 1 50
Oswald Cray, 1 50
Verner's Pride, 1 50
Red Court Farm, 75
The Runaway Match, 50
The Mystery, 75
The Lost Bank tfote, 75
A Life's Secret, 60
Better for Worse, 75
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $1.00 eacl.
The Channings, 1 00 | Aurora Floyd, 75
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $1.50 each.
The Lost Will, and the Dia-
mond Bracelet, 50
The Haunted Tower, 50
Foggy Night at Offord, 25
The Lawyer's Secret, 25
William Allair, 25
Books sent; postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
I B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
6 T. B. PETEESON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
GUSTAVE AIMARD'S WORKS.
The Prairie Flower, 75 I Pirates of the Prairies, 74
The Indian Scout, 75
The Trail Hunter, 75
The Indian Chief, 75
The Red Track, 75
Trapper's Daughter, 76
The Tiger Slayer, 76
The Gold Seekers, 76
The Smuggler Chief, 76
WILKIE COLLINS' BEST WORKS.
The Crossed Path, 1 50 | The Dead Secret, 1 61
The above are each in one volume, paper cover. Each one is also pub-
lished in one volume, cloth, price $2.00 each.
Hide and Seek, 75 I The Stolen Mask, 26
After Dark, 75 ' The Yellow Mask, „ 25
The Dead Secret, 75 • Sister Rose, 25
Sights A-Foot; or, Travels Beyond Railways, 50
MISS PARDOE'S WORKS.
The Jealous Wife, 50
Confessions of a PrettyWoman, 75
Rival Beauties, 76
Romance of the Harem, 50
The Wife's Trials 75
The five above books are also bound in one volume, cloth, for $4.00.
The Adopted Heir. One volume, paper, $1.50; or cloth, $2.00.
A Life's Struggle. By Miss Pardoe, one volume, cloth, $2.00.
G. P. R. JAMES'S BOOKS.
Lord Montague's Page, 1 50 | The Cavalier, 1 50
The above are each in one volume, paper cover. Each book is also pub-
lished in one volume, cloth, price $2.00 each.
The Man in Black, 75 I Arrah Neil, 75
Mary of Burgundy, 75 I Eva St. Clair, 50
GEORGE SAND'S WORKS.
Consuelo, 75
Countess of Rudolstadt, 75
First and True Love, 75
The Corsair, 50
Indiana, a Love Story, paper,. 1 50
or in cloth, 2 00
Consuelo ana Rudolstadt, both
in one •volume, cloth, 2 00
GOOD BOOKS FOR EVERYBODY.
The Refugee, 1 50 Lola Montez' Life and Letters, 1 50
Life of Don Quixotte, 1 00 CurrcrLyle 1 50
Wilfred Montrcssor 1 50 Wild Southern Scenes, 1 60
Adventures in Africa, 1 00
A.dvouture?of Peregrine Pickle I 00
Love and Money 1 5C
Afternoon of Unmarried Life... 1 50
Li 'e and Beauties Fnnny Fern, 1 50
Humors of Falconbridge, 1 69
Secession, Coercion, and Civil
War, 1 50
What I Saw, and Where I
Went, 1 50
Lady Maud: or, the Wonder of Kingswood Chase, 1 50
Above are each in paper cover, or each one in cloth, for $2.00 each.
Jg^ Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 7
HUMOROUS AMERICAN WORKS.
New editions now ready, beautifully illustrated.
Major Jones' Courtship, 75
Major Jones' Travels, 75
Simon Suggs' Adventures and
Travels, 75
Major Jones' Chronicles of
Pineville, 75
Polly Peablossom's Wedding,.. 75
Mysteries of the Backwoods,... 75
Widow Rugby's Husband, 75
Big Bear of Arkansas 75
Western Scenes; or, Life on
the Frairie, 75
Streaks of Squatter Life 75
Pickings from the Picayune,... 75
Stray Subjects, Arrested and
Bound Over, 75
Louisiana Swamp Doctor, 75
Charcoal Sketches, 75
Misfortunes of Peter Faber,.... 75
Yankee among the Mermaids,.. 75
New Orleans Sketch Book, 75
Drama in Pokerville, , 75
The Quorndon Hounds, , 75
My Shooting Box, 76
Warwick Woodlands, 76
The Door Stalkers, 76
Pejer Ploddy, 75
Adventures of Captain Farrago. 75
Major O'Regan's Adventures,.. 75
Sol. Smith's Theatrical Appren-
ticeship, 75
Sol. Smith's Theatrical Jour-
uey-Work, 75
The Quarter Race in Kentucky, 75
Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag, 75
Percival Mayberry's Adven-
tures and Travels, 76
Yankee Yarns and Yankee Let-
ters, 75
Adventures of Fudge Fumble,. 75
American Joe Miller, 50
Following the Drum, 50
DISRAELI'S WORKS.
Henrietta Temple, 50
Vivian Grey, 75
Venetia, 50
Young Duke, 50
Miriam Alroy, 50
Contarina Fleming, 50
FRANK FAIRLEGH'S WORKS.
Frank Fairlegh, 75 I Harry Racket Scapegrace, 75
Lewis Arundol, 75 I Torn Racquet, 75
Fine editions of above are also issued in cloth, at $2.00 each.
Harry Coverdale's Courtship, 1 50 I Lorrirner Littlegood, 1 50
or in cloth, 2 00 I or in cloth, 2 00
C. J. PETERSON'S WORKS,
Old Stone Mansion, 1 50 | Kate Aylesford, 1 50
The above are each in one volume, paper cover. Each one is also pub-
lished in one volume, cloth, price $2.00 each.
Cruising in the Last War, 75 I Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at
Valley Farm, 25 I Saratoga, 25
MAITLAND'S WORKS.
The Watchman, 1 50 Diury of an Old Doctor, , 1
The Wanderer, 1 50
The Lawyer's Story, 1 50
Above are in paper cover, or in cloth, price $2.00 each.
MAXWELL'S WORKS.
The Three Cousins, 1
Wil<3 Sports of the West,.
Stories of Waterloo,
75 I Briii n O'Lyun,.
75
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
I. fL, Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
8 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
LANGUAGES WITHOUT A MASTER.
German without a Master,
Italian without a Master,
French without a Master, 25
Spanish without a Master, 25
Latin without a Master, 25
The above five works on the French, German, Spanish, Latin and
Italian Languages, without a Master, whereby any one or all of these
Languages can be learned by any one without a Teacher, with the aid of
this great book, by A. H. Monteith, Esq., is also published in finer style,
complete in one large volume, bound, price, $2.00.
HARRY COCKTON'S WORKS.
Sylrester Sound 75
Valentine Vox, the Ventrilo-
quist, 75
The Sisters, 75
The Steward, 78
Percy Effingham, 76
BOOKS OF FUN AND HUMOR.
Each one full of Illustrati
Modern Chivalry, cloth, 2 00
High Life in New York, by
Jonathan Slick, cloth, 2 00
Judge Halliburton's Yankee
Stories, Illustrated, cloth,.... 2 00
The Swamp Doctor's Adven-
tures in the South-West. 14
illustrations, cloth, 2 00
Major Thorpe's Scenes in Ark-
ansaw. 16 illustrations, cloth, 2 00
The Big Bear's Adventures and
Travels. 18 engravings,cloth, 2 00
Harry Coverdale's Courtship
and Marriage, cloth, 2 00
on*, and bound in Cloth.
Piney Wood's Tavern j or, Sam
Slick in Texas, cloth, 2 00
Major Jones' Courtship and
Travels. Illustrated, cloth,. 2 00
Simon Suggs' Adventures and
Travels. Illustrated, cloth,. 2 00
Major Jones' Scenes in Georg-
ia, cloth, 2 00
Sam Slick, the Clockmaker,
cloth, 2 00
Jack ShephardA GuyFawkes,
one volume, cloth, 2 00
Neal's Charcoal Sketches, 21
illustrations, 2 50
DOW'S PATENT SERMONS.
Dow's Patent Sermons, 1st
Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50
Dow's Patent Sermons, 2d
Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50
Dow's Patent Sermons, 3d
Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50
Dow's Patent Sermons, 4th
Series, $1.00; cloth, 1 50
HENRY W. HERBERT'S BOOKS.
My Shooting Box, 75
Deer Stalkers, 75
Warwick Woodlands, 75
Quorndon Hounds, 75
The Roman Traitor, one vol.,
cloth, $2.00; orl vol., paper 1 50
ELLEN PICKERING'S WORKS.
Poor Cousin, 50
Kate Walsingham, 50
Orphan Niece, 50
Tbi Grumbler, 75
Ellen Wareham, 38
Who Shall be Heir? 38
Secret Foe, 38
Expectant, 38
Quiet Husband, 38
Nan Darrell 38
Prince and Pedlar, 38
Merchant's Daughter, 38
The Squire, 38
Marrying for Money, 76
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Potersou & Brothers, Philadelphia, Fa.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 9
ETIQUETTE AND USEFUL BOOKS.
The Latties Guide to True Politeness and Perfect Manners. By Miss
Leslie. Cloth, full gilt back, 2 00
The Ladies' Complete Guide to Needlework and Embroidery. 113
illustrations. Cloth, full gilt back 2 00
Ladies' Work Table Book, plates, cloth, gilt, 1 50
The Gentlemen's Science of Etiquette, 25
The Ladies' Science of Etiquette, 4 25
The Laws and Practice of the Game of Euchre, by a Professor, 1 00
Lardner's One Thousand and Ten Things Worth Knowing, 50
Knowlson's Complete Farrier, or Horse Doctor, 25
Knowlson's Complete Cow or Cattle Doctor, 25
The Complete Kitchen and Fruit Gardener, 25
The Complete Florist and Flower Gardener, 25
Arthur's Receipts for Preserving Fruits, etc., 12
Coal and Coal Oil, and other Minerals. By Professor Bowen, 2 00
CAPT. MARRYATT'S WORKS.
Jacob Faithful, 50
Japhet in Search of a Father,..
Phantom Ship, 50
Midshipman Easy, 50
Pacha of Many Tales, 50
Naval Officer, 50
Snarleyow, 50
LIVES OF H]
Life of John A. Murrel, 50
Life of Joseph T. Hare 25
Life of Monroe Edwards,
Life of Helen Jovrett, 50
Life of Jack Rann,
Life of Jonathan Wild, 25
Life of Henry Thomas, 25
Life of Dick Turpin, ,
Life of Arthur Spring, 25
Life of Jack Ketch, 25
Ninon De L'Enclos, 25
Desperadoes of the New World,
Mysteries of New Orleans,
The Robber's Wife, 25
Obi; or, Three Fingered Jack,
Kit Clayton, 25
Lives of the Felons, 25
Life of Tom Waters, 25
Life of Mrs.Whipple and Jesse
Strang, 25
Nat Blake, 25
Bill Horton, 25
Galloping Gus, 25
DR. HOLLICK'S WORKS.
Dr. Hollick's great work on Anatomy and Physiology of the Human
Figure, with plate? 50
Dr. Hollick's Family Physician, 25
50
50
50
50
50
50
50
HI
50
25
50
50
50
25
25
50
25
25
25
25
50
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
Newton Forster,
50
50
50
50
50
50
50
25
25
25
50
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
50
25
25
50
50
50
75
1 50
Pirate and Three Cutters,
Sea King,
GHWAYMEN.
Biddy Woodhull,
Eveleen Wilson,
Diary of a Pawnbroker,
Silver and Pewter,
Sweeney Todd,
Life of Mother Brownrig,
Dick Parker, the Pirate,
Life of Mary Bateman
Life of Captain Blood,
Capt. Blood and the Beagles,..
Sixteen-Stringed Jack's Fight
Highwayman's Avenger,
Life of Raoul De Surville,
Life of Sybil Grey,
Life of Rody the Rover,
Life of Galloping Dick,
Life of Grace O'Malley,
Life of Jack Shephard,
Life of Davy Crockett,
Life and Adventures of Vidocq,
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brother*, Philadelphia, Fa.
10 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
EXCITING SEA TALES.
Adventures of Ben Brace, 75
Jack Adams, the Mutineer,.... 75
Jack Ariel's Adventures, 75
Petrel ; or, Life on the Ocean,. 50
Yankee Jack, 50
Red Wing, 50
Life of Paul Periwinkle, 50
Life of Alexander Tardy, 25
Life of Tom Bowling, 75
Percy Effingham, 75
Red King, 50
Cruising in the Last War, 75
The Corsair, 50
The Pirate's Son, 25
The Doomed Ship, 25
The Three Pirates, 50
The Flying Dutchman, 50
The Flying Yankee, 25
The Yankee Middy, 25
The Gold Seekers, 25
The River Pirates, 25
The King's Cruisers, 25
Man-of-War's-Man, 25
Dark Shades of City Life, 25
The Rats of the Seine, 25
Yankees in Japan, ................ 25
Charles Ransford, ................. 25
Morgan, the Buccaneer, ......... 25
Jack Junk, .......................... 25
Davis, the Pirate, ................ 25
Valdez, the Pirate, .............. 25
The Iron Cross, ................... 25
Gallant Tom, ....................... 25
Harry Helm, ........................ 25
Harry Tempest, .................... 25
Rebel and Rover, .................. 25
Jacob Faithful, ..................... 50
Phantom Ship, ..................... 50
Midshipman Easy, ................ 50
Pacha of Many Tales, ............ 50
Naval Officer, ....................... 50
Snarleyow, ........................... 50
Newton Forster,
King's Own,
50
50
Japhot, 50
Pirate and Three Cutters, 50
Peter Simple, 50
Percival Keene, 50
Poor Jack, 50
Sea King, 50
AINSWORTH'S GREAT WORKS.
Life of Jack Shephard, 50
Life of Davy Crockett, 50
Guy Fawkes, 75
The Star Chamber, 75
Old St. Paul's, 75
Courtof Queen Anne, 50
Tower of London, 1 00
Miser's Daughter, 1 00
Dick Turpin, 50
Life of Henry Thomas, 25
Life .of Mrs Whipple, 25
MILITARY NOVELS.
With Illuminated Military Covers, in five Colors.
Desperadoes of the New World, 26
Ninon De L'Enclos, 25
Courtof the Stuarts, 75
Windsor Castle, 75
Life of Arthur Spring, 25
Life of Grace O'Malley, 50
Charles O'Malley, 75
lack Hinton, the Guardsman, 75
The Knight of Gwynne, 75
Harry Lorrequer, 75
Tom Burkeof Ours, 75
Arthur O'Leary, 75
Con Cretan, 75
Xfite O'Donoghue, 75
Horace Templeton, 75
Davenport Dunn, 75
Bellowing the Drum, 50
Valentine Vox, 75
Twin Lieutenants, 75
Stories of Waterloo, 75
The Soldier's Wife, 75
Guerilla Chief, 75
Jack Adams' Adventures, 75
The Three Guardsmen, 75
Twenty Years After, 75
Bragelonne, Son of Athos, 75
Wallace, the Hero of Scotland, 75
Forty-five Guardsmen, 75
Tom Bowling's Adventures,... 75
Life of Robert Bruce, 75
The Gipsy Chief, 75
Massacre of Glencoc, 75
Life of Guy Fawkes, 75
Child of Waterloo, 75
Adventures of Ben Brace, 75
Life of Jack Ariel, 75
The Quaker Soldier, 1 50
The Conscript, 1 50
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS. 11
MILITARY AND ARMY BOOKS.
The Soldier's Companion,
The Soldier's Guide
Volunteer's Text Book,.......,.
Ellsworth's Zouave Drill, 25
U. S. Light Infantry Drill, 25
U. S. Government Infantry &
Rifle Tactics, 25
EUGENE SUE'S WORKS.
Wandering Jew, 1 50 Woman's Love,
Mysteries of Paris, 1 50
Martin, the Foundling, 1>50
First Love,.
50
Female Bluebeard,
Man-of-War's-Man,
Life of Raoul De Surville,
25
25
60
5*
60
26
J. F. SMITH'S WORKS.
The Usurer's Victim; er, I Adelaide Waldgrave; or, Trials
Thomas Balscombe, 75 I of a Governess,.., T5
REVOLUTIONARY TALES.
The Brigand, 50
Ralph Rnnnion, 50
Seven Brothers of Wyoming,.. 25
The Rebel Bride, 25
The Flying Artillerist, 25
Old Put, 25
Wau-nan-gee, 50
Legends of Mexico, 60
Grace Dudley: or, Arnold at
Saratoga, 25
The Guerilla Chief, 75
The Quaker Soldier, 1 50
EMERSON BENNETT'S WORKS.
The Border Rover, 1 50
Clara Moreland, 1 50
Viola; or Adventures in the
Far South-West, 1 50
Bride of the Wilderness, 1 50
Ellen Norbury, i 50
The Forged Will, 1 50
Kate Clarendon, , .. 1 50
Above are each in paper cover. Each book is also published in one
volume, cloth, price $2.00 each.
The Heiress of Bellefonte, and
Walde-Warren, 50
Pioneer's Daughter and Un-
known Countess, 50
The Two Brides,
.... 50
Love in a Cottage......
50
.... 50
Year after Marriage,
50
The Lady at Home,
50
50
T. S. ARTHUR'S WORKS.
The Divorced Wife, 50
Prido and Prudence, 50
Agnes; or, the Possessed, 50
Lucy Sandford, 50
The Banker's Wife, 60
The Two Merchants, 50
Orphan Children, 50 Insubordination, 50
Debtor's Daughter, 50 Trial and Triumph, 50
Mary Moreton, 50 The Iron Rule, 50
Six Nights with the Washingtonians. With nine original Illustra-
tions. By Cruikshank. One volume, cloth $2.00; or in paper,. ..$1.50
Lizzie Glenn ; or, the Trials of a Seamstress. Cloth $2.00 ; or paper, 1.50
CHRISTY & WHITE'S SONG BOOKS.
Christy A Wood's Song Book, 13 Serenader's Song Book, 13
Melodeon Song Book, 13 Budwortn's Songs, 13
Plantation Melodies, 13 Christy and White's Complete
Ethiopian Song Book, 13 Ethiopian Melodies. Cloth, 1 00
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T, B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
12 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
MRS. GREY'S WORKS.
Cousin Harry,.. 1 50 | The Little Beauty, 1 60
Above are in paper cover, or in one volume, cloth, price $2.00 each.
Gipsy's Daughter, 50
Old Dower House, 50
Belle of the Family, 50
Duke and Cousin, 50
The Little Wife, 50
Lena Cameron, 50
Sybil Lennard, 50
Manoeuvring Mother 50
Baronet's Daughters, 50
GEORGE LIPPARL'S WORKS,
Young Prhna Donna, 50
Hyacinthe, 25
Alice Seymour, 25
Mary Seahara, 75
Passion and Principle, 75
The Flirt, 75
Good Society, 75
Lion-Hearted, 75
The Quaker City, 1 50
Paul Ardenheim, 1 50
Blanche of Brandy wine, 1 50
Mysteries of Florence, 1 00
The Empire City, 75
Memoirs of a Preacher, 75
The Nazarene, 75
Washington and his Men, 75
Washington and his Generals;
or, Legends of the American
Revolution, 1 50
Legends of Mexico, 50
The Entranced,
The Robbers,
The Bank Director's Son,
Ride with the Dead,
25
25
25
50
NEW AND GOOD BOOKS.
Crock of Gold. By Tupper,... 50
Twins and Heart. By Tupper, 50
Life of Bishop Hughes, 25
Life of General McClellan, 50
Life of General Butler, 25
Life of General Meade, 25
The Deformed 25
Two Priina Donnas, 25
The Haunted House, 25
Tom Tiddler's Ground, 25
The Mysterious Marriage, 25
Jack Downing's Letters, 25
The Mysteries of a Convent,... 25
Bell Brandon, 25
Rose Warrington, 25
The Iron Cross, 25
Charles Ransford, 25
Sybil Grey, 50
Female Life in New York, 25
Agnes Grey, 25
Legends of Mexico 50
Eva St. Clair 50
Diary of a Physician 50
The Emigrant Squire, 25
The Monk, by Lewis 50
The Beautiful French Girl 25
The Mysteries of Bedlam, 25
The Nobleman's Daughter 25
Madison's Exposition of Odd
Fellowship, 25
The Book of Ghost Stories,....
The Admiral's Daughter..
The Wreck of the Golden Mary,
Perils of English Prisoners,....
The American Joe Miller,
Ladies' Science of Etiquette,...
Gentlemen's Science Etiquette,
Grace Dudley; or, Arnold at
Saratoga, 25
The Valley Farm, 25
Ella Stratford, 50
Edgar Montrose ; or, the Mys-
terious Penitent, 50
The Abbey of Innismoyle, 25
Gliddon's Ancient Egypt 25
Josephine, by Grace Aguilar,.. 50
Philip in Search of a Wife, 25
Father Tom and the Pope, 25
The Oxonians, 50
The Roue; or, the Hazards of
Women, 25
Hollick's Family Physician,... 25
Robert Oaklands : or, the Out-
cast Orphan 50
Abednego, the Money Lender,. 50
Falkland, 25
Rifle Shots, 25
Jenny Ambrose, 25
A House to Let, 25
The Two Apprentices, 25
Books sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
1 B Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa.
TJF» VOUirt CL.UI3S FOR, 1NG«!
PETERSON'S MAGAZINE.
DOUBLE-SIZE COLORED STEEL FASHION PLATES!
For many years " Peterson's Magazine" has had a larger circulation than
Wiy other monthly ir. the United States. In 1SG6 it will be greatly improved :
'Jie readin
. e e e.
ing matter will be increased, AND EACH NUMBER WILL CONTAIN A Oounis-SiZB
ASHION PLATE, ELEGANTLY COLORED, with from four to six figures: aiakliijj
<?otcrson" more desirable than ever! The terms will remain two dollars a year,
with liberal deductions to clubs. Containing nearly one thousand pages annually,
trarteen steel engravings, twelve double-size fashion plates, and eight hundred
wood-cuts, it will bo, in I860, beyond all question,
TO! GMIAPIST MAftAftili ON
The novelets and tales are acknowledged to be the very best. Mart money
is paid for original stories than by any other ilagazine of the kind. In 1866, in
addition to the usual array of shorter stories, FOUR COPY-RIGHTED NOVELETS WILI
BE GIVEN, viz :
THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS, by Mrs. Ann St. Stephens.
THE STOLEN BOND, by the Author of "The Second Life.'
THE OLD MILL OF AMOSKEAG, by tl.e Author of "Susy L's Diary "
Mrs. SHODDY'S SKELETON, by Frank Lee Benedict
In its Illustrations also, " Peterson" is unrivalled. The Publisher challenge!
a comparison between its
SUPERB MEZZOTINTS &, other STEEL EXGKAVINGS
And those in other Magazines, and one at least is given in each number.
DOUBLE-SIZE COLORED FASHION PLATES
Each number will contain a double-size Fashion plate, engraved on steel
and handsomely colored. These plates will bo twice the size of those heretofore
given : and will excel anything of the kind yet seen. In addition, wood-cuts of
the newest bonnets, hats, caps, head-dresses, cloaks, jackets, ball dresses, walking
dresses, house dresses, Ac., Ac., will appear in each number. Also, the greatest
variety »f children's dresses. Also, a diagram, by aid of which a cloak, dress, or
child's costume can be cut out, without the aid of a mantua-maker, go that
each number in this way alone, will save a year's subscription.
COLORED PATTERNS IN BERLIN WORK, &e.
No other Magazine gives the beautiful and expensive patterns for Berlin
Work, &c., printed in colors, for which " Peterson" is celebrated. Many of these,
at a retail store, would cost fifty cents. These will be kept up. Each number
will also give patterns in Crochet, Embroidery, Knitting, &c., ic.,
aSSBSfTg FOB. •GASKET, THS T&JLET, &€„ &&
Carefully tested receipts will appear monthly, for the Table, the Toilet, the
Sick Room, the Nursery. &c. Also, hints on Horticulture, Furnishing, 4c.
These alone, at the end of the year, will be worth the price of the Magazine
A PLKCB OF NEW AND FASHIONABLE Music in each number.
1 Copy, for one year. $2.00
TERMS-ALWAYS IN ADVANCE.
3 Copies, " 4.50
4 " " 6.00
6 Copies, (and 1 to goiter np Club.) $ 8.00
and 1 to getter up Club.) 12 00
14 " (and 1 to getter up Club.) 20.00
A CHOICE OF PKEM1UMS. Where a person is entitled to an
extra copy for getting up a Club, there will be sent, if preferred, instead of the
extra copy, a superb premium mezzotint tor framing, (size 27 inches by 20.)
"WASHINGTON PARTING FROM BIS GENERALS," or a LADT'S ILLUSTRATED ALBUM,
Handsomely bound and gilt. Always state whether an extra copy, or one of thest
other premiums, is preferred : and notice that for Clubs of three or four, no
premiums are given. IN REMITTING, get a post-office order or a draft on Phila-
delphia 01 New York : if neither of these can bo had, send green-backs or bank
notes. Address, post-paid,
CHAELES J. PETERSON,
No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
4^- Specir"*ni eent, if written for.
(WT BOOK HIKE IN THE WORLD.
To Sutlers! Pedlars! Booksellers! News Agents! etc,
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia,
PUBLISH THE MOST SALEABLE BOOKS IN THE WORLD
AND SUPPLY ALL BOOKS AT VERY LOW RATES,
The cheapest place in the world to buy or send for a stock of all
kinds of Books, suitable for all persons whatever, for Soldiers, and for
the Army, and for all other reading, is at the Bookselling and Pub-
lishing House of T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia.
Any person wanting any books at all, in any quantity, from a single
Dook to a dozen, a huuared, thousand, ten thousand, or larger quantity
of books, had better send on their orders at once to the " OHEA P
EVST BOOKSELLING AND PUBLISHING HOUSE IN THE
WORLD," which is at T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, No. 306
Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, who have the largest stock in the couu
try. and will supply them and sell them cheaper than any other house
m the world. We publish a large variety of Military Novels, with
Illustrated Military covers, in colors, besides thousands of others, ail
of which are the best selling and most popular books in the world.
We have just issued a new and complete Catalogue, copies of which
we will send gratuitously to all on their sending for one.
Enclose one, two, five, ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred, or a thousand
dollars, or more, to us in a letter, or per express, and write what kind
of books you wish, and they will be packed and sent to you at once, per
first expiess or mail, or in any other way you may direct, just as well
assorted, and the same as if you were on the spot, with circulars, show
bills, &c., gratis. All we ask is to give us a trial.
Address all orders for any books you may want at all, no matter by
irhoin published, or how small or how large your order may be, to the
Cheapest Publishing and Bookselling House in the world, which it at
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia,
And tuey will be packed and sent to you within an hour after receip*
>f the order, per express or railroad, or in any other way you may direct.
' Agents, Sutlers, and Pedlars wanted everywhere, to engage in the
tale of our popular selling Books, all of which will be sold at very low rates
A 000 082 937 4
/ 1*0
Live Music
Archive
Librivox
Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland
Museum of Art
Internet
Arcade
Console Living Room
Open Library
American
Libraries
TV News
Understanding
9/11